CIVIL 

WAR. 
STORIES 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


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CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 


HISTORICAL  STORIES 

RETOLD  FROM 

ST.  NICHOLAS  MAGAZINE 

IN  FIVE  VOLUMES 
*  • 

INDIAN  STORIES 

A  mirror  of  Indian   ideas,  cu'stoms,  and 
adventures. 

COLONIAL  STORIES 

Stirring  tales  of  the  rude  frontier  life  of 
early  times. 

REVOLUTIONARY  STORIES 

Heroic  deeds,  and  especially  children's 
part  in  them. 

CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

Thrilling  stories  of  the  great  struggle, 
both  on  land  and  sea. 

OUR  HOLIDAYS 

Something  of  their  meaning  and  spirit. 


Each  about  200  pages.     Full  cloth,  1 2mo. 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 


<J%U 


SC4T&/ 


CIVIL  WAR   STORIES 

RETOLD  FROM  ST.  NICHOLAS 


PUBLISHED    BY    THE    CENTURY    CO. 
NEW   YORK MCMXI 


Copyright,  1881,  1884,  1885,  1887,  1894,  1895, 

1896,  1900,  1902,  1905,  by 

The  Century  Co. 


THE    DE  VINNE    PRESS 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Abraham  Lincoln Frontispiece 

From  a  photograph 

OFF  TO    THE   WAR Harry  M.  Kieffer         3 

With  illustrations  by  George  Varian,  M.  J.  Burns,  and  Thomas 
Hogan 

VIRGINIA    SCENES    IN  '6i        .      .      .  Constance  Cary  Harrison      19 

With  illustrations  by  E.  J.  Meeker,  A.  C.  Redwood,  and  E.  W. 
Kemble 

THE   MERRIMAC  AND  THE   MONITOR   General  Adam  Badeau      33 

With  illustrations  by  Henry  Sandham,  W.  Taber,  and  J.   O. 
Davidson 

ELEANOR'S  COLONEL        ....     Annah  Robinson  Watson      60 


LIEUTENANT   HARRY Thomas  Edwin  Turner      67 

With  illustrations  by  W.  N.  Shelton 

A    STORY    OF    FARRAGUT Charles  H  Bodder      88 

With  illustrations  by  T.  de  Thulstrup  and  from  a  photograph 

A  Drummer-Boy  at  Gettysburg   .     .  Harry  M.  Kieffer  105 

With  illustrations  by  A.  C.  Redwood,  George  Varian,  A.  R. 
Waud,  and  from  a  photograph 

HOW    MOSES  WAS   EMANCIPATED    Susan  Huntington  Hooker    122 
With  illustrations  by  Theodore  R.  Davis,  Louise  L.  Huestis, 
and  Harry  Fenn 

v 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Ulysses  S.  Grant  as  Lieutenant-General      .     .     .134 

From  a  photograph 

Lincoln's  God-Speed  to  Grant 135 

Fac-simile  of  letter  of  April  30,  1864 

SHERIDAN    IN  THE   VALLEY     .       .       .      General  Adam  Badeau    136 
With  illustrations  by  Theodore  R.  Davis  and  from  a  photograph 

The    Picret-Guard    .....       .     Ethelin  Eliot  Beers    154 

With  tail-piece  by  W.  Taber 

The  Alabama  and  the  Kearsarge 156 

With  illustrations  By  the  Surgeon  of  the  Kearsarge 

by  W.  Taber,  J.  0.  Davidson,  and  from  a  photograph 

Lieutenant  Gushing  and  the  Ram  Albemarle     .     .178 

With  illustrations  by  J.  0.  Davidson  Theodore  Roosevelt 

and  from  a  photograph 

SHERMAN'S   MARCH   TO  THE   SEA        .    General  Adam  Badeau    188 

With  illustrations  by  W.  L.  Sheppard,  Theodore  R.  Davis,  and 
W^.  Taber 


PREFACE 

This  collection  of  Civil  War  Stories,  like  the 
Indian  Stories,  Colonial  Stories,  and  Revolu- 
tionary Stories,  presents  quite  accurately  the 
picture  of  an  important  epoch  in  United  States 
history. 

It  is  now  more  than  forty  years  since  our 
country  was  engaged  in  the  great  Civil  War  be- 
tween the  North  and  the  South,  that  resulted 
in  the  preservation  of  the  Union,  and  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  which  represent  it. 

These  stories,  simply  told,  yet  vivid  and  true, 
have  been  here  brought  together  with  the  hope 
of  instilling  in  the  minds  of  even  the  youngest 
readers  of  history  a  love  for  their  country  and 
an  interest  in  the  men  who  defended  it  and  the 
many  who  sacrificed  their  lives  in  so  doing. 


CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 


Fold  up  the  banners  !  smelt  the  guns  ! 
Love  rules.    Her  gentler  purpose  runs. 

A  mighty  mother  turns  in  tears 

The  pages  of  her  battle  years, 
Lamenting  all  her  fallen  sons. 

Will  H.  Thompson. 


CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 


OFF  TO  THE  WAR 

BY  HARRY  M.   KIEFFER 

WHEN,  in  1 86 1,  the  war  fever  broke  out  in 
the  school  I  was  attending,  and  one  after 
another  the  desks  were  left  vacant  where  the 
older  boys  had  sat,  and  there  were  few  scholars 
left  but  the  girls  and  the  smaller  boys  who  were 
too  young  to  think  of  following  the  envied  ex- 
ample of  their  older  fellows,  you  can  scarcely 
imagine  how  dull  our  life  became.  We  had  no 
interest  in  study,  were  restive  and  listless,  and 
gave  our  good  teacher  a  world  of  trouble.  The 
wars  of  Caesar  and  the  siege  of  Troy,— what 
were  they  when  compared  with  the  great  war 
now  actually  being  waged  in  our  own  land  ?  The 
nodding  plumes  of  Hector  and  the  armor  of 
Homer's  heroes  were  not  half  so  interesting  or 
magnificent  as  the  brave  uniforms  of  the  soldiers 
we  saw  occasionally  on  our  streets.  And  when, 
one   day,    one   of   our   own    school-fellows    was 


4  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

brought  home,  wounded  by  a  ball  through  his 
shoulder,  our  excitement  knew  no  bounds !  And 
so,  here  is  a  letter  I  wrote  to  my  father: 

Dear  Father:  I  write  to  ask  whether  I  may  have 
your  permission  to  enlist.  I  find  the  school  is  fast 
breaking  up.  Most  of  the  boys  are  gone.  I  can't 
study  any  more.     Won't  you  let  me  go? 

Poor  father!  In  the  anguish  of  his  heart  it 
must  have  been  that  he  sat  down  and  wrote, 
"  You  may  go!"  Without  the  loss  of  a  moment 
I  was  off  to  the  recruiting-ofhce,  showed  my 
father's  letter,  and  asked  to  be  sworn  in;  but 
alas !  I  was  only  sixteen,  and  lacked  two  years 
of  being  old  enough,  and  they  would  not  take  me 
unless  I  could  swear  I  was  eighteen,  which  I 
could  not  do, — no,  not  even  to  gain  this  ardently 
desired  object! 

So,  then,  back  again  to  the  school,  to  Virgil 
and  Homer,  and  that  poor  little  old  siege  of  Troy, 
for  a  few  weeks  more;  until  the  very  school- 
master himself  was  taken  down  with  the  war 
fever,  and  began  to  raise  a  company,  and  the 
school  had  to  look  for  a  new  teacher,  and  they 
said  I  could  enlist  as  drummer-boy,  no  matter 
how  young  I  might  be,  if  only  that  I  had  my 


OFF   TO   THE   WAR  5 

father's  consent!  And  this,  most  unfortunately, 
had  been  revoked  meanwhile,  for  there  had  come 
a  letter  saying:  "My  dear  boy:  If  you  have  not 
yet  enlisted,  do  not  do  so :  for  I  think  you  are 
quite  too  young  and  delicate,  and  I  gave  my  per- 
mission perhaps  too  hastily  and  without  due  con- 
sideration." But,  alas !  dear  father,  it  was  too 
late  then,  for  I  had  set  my  very  heart  on  going; 
the  company  was  nearly  full,  and  would  leave 
in  a  few  days,  and  everybody  in  the  village  knew 
that  Harry  was  going  for  a  drummer-boy. 

There  was  an  immense  crowd  of  people  at  the 
depot  that  midsummer  morning  when  our  com- 
pany started  off  to  the  war.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
whole  county  had  suspended  work  and  \roted  it- 
self a  holiday,  for  a  continuous  stream  of  people, 
old  and  young,  poured  out  of  the  little  village 

of  L and  made  its  way  through  the  bridge 

across  the  river,  and  over  the  dusty  road  beyond, 
to  the  station  where  we  were  to  take  the  train. 

The  thirteen  of  us  who  had  come  down  from 

the  village  of  M to  join  the  larger  body  of 

the  company  at  L— had  enjoyed  something 

of  a  triumphal  progress  on  the  way.  We  had  a 
brass  band  to  start  with,  besides  no  inconsid- 
erable escort  of  vehicles  and  mounted  horsemen, 


6  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

the  number  of  which  was  steadily  swelled  to 
quite  a  procession  as  we  advanced.  The  band 
played  and  the  flags  waved  and  the  boys  cheered 
and  the  people  at  work  in  the  fields  cheered  back, 
and  the  young  farmers  rode  down  the  lane  on 
their  horses,  or  brought  their  sweethearts  in 
their  carriages  and  fell  in  line  with  the  dusty 
procession.  Even  the  old  gate-keeper,  who  could 
not  leave  his  post,  got  much  excited  as  we  passed, 
gave  "  three  cheers  for  the  Union  forever,"  and 
stood  waving  his  hat  after  us  till  we  were  hid 
from  sight  behind  the  hills. 

Reaching  L about  nine  in  the  morning, 

we  found  the  village  all  ablaze  with  bunting,  and 
the  people  so  wrought  up  with  the  excitement 
that  all  thought  of  work  had  evidently  been  given 
up  for  that  day.  As  we  formed  in  line  and 
marched  down  the  main  street  toward  the  river, 
the  sidewalks  were  crowded  everywhere  with 
people— with  boys  who  wore  red-white-and-blue 
neckties,  and  boys  who  wore  fatigue  caps,  with 
girls  who  carried  flags,  and  girls  who  carried 
flowers,  with  women  who  waved  their  kerchiefs, 
and  old  men  who  waved  their  walking-sticks, 
while  here  and  there,  as  we  passed  along,  at  win- 
dows and  doorways  were  faces  red  with  long 


THE    DRUMMER-BOY  S    DREAM 


OFF   TO   THE  WAR  9 

weeping,  for  Johnrry  was  off  to  the  war,  and 
maybe  mother  and  sisters  and  sweetheart  would 
never,  never  see  him  again. 

Drawn  up  in  line  before  the  station,  we  awaited 
the  train.  There  was  scarcely  a  man,  woman, 
or  child  in  that  great  crowd  around  us  but  had 
to  press  up  for  a  last  shake  of  the  hand,  a  last 
good-by,  and  a  last  "  God  bless  you,  boys ! " 
And  so,  amid  cheering  and  hand-shaking,  flag- 
waving,  and  band-playing,  the  train  at  last  came 
thundering  in,  and  we  were  off,  with  "  The  Star- 
Spangled  Banner "  sounding  fainter  and  far- 
ther away,  until  it  was  drowned  and  lost  to  the 
ear  in  the  noise  of  the  swiftly  rushing  train. 

For  myself,  however,  the  last  good-by  had  not 
yet  been  said,  for  I  had  been  away  from  home  at 
school,  and  was  to  leave  the  train  at  a  way-sta- 
tion some  miles  down  the  road,  and  walk  out  to 
my  home  in  the  country  and  say  good-by  to  the 
folks  at  home, — and  that  was  the  hardest  part 
of  it  all,  for  good-by  then  might  be  good-by 
forever. 

If  anybody  at  home  had  been  looking  out  of 
door  or  window  that  hot  August  afternoon  he 
would  have  seen,  coming  down  the  dusty  road, 
a    slender    lad    with    a    bundle    slung   over    his 


io  CIVIL  WAR   STORIES 

shoulder,  and— but  nobody  was  looking  down  the 
road — nobody  was  in  sight.  Even  Rollo  the  dog, 
my  old  play-fellow,  was  asleep  somewhere  in 
the  shade,  and  all  was  sultry,  hot  and  still.  Leap- 
ing lightly  over  the  fence  by  the  spring  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  I  took  a  cool  draught  of  water, 
and  looked  up  at  the  great  red  farm-house  above 
with  a  throbbing  heart,  for  that  was  home,  and 
many  a  sad  good-by  had  there  to  be  said,  and 
said  again,  before  I  could  get  off  to  the  war ! 

Long  years  have  passed  since  then,  but  never 
have  I  forgotten  how  pale  the  faces  of  mother 
and  sisters  became  when,  entering  the  room 
where  they  were  at  work,  and  throwing  off  my 
bundle,  in  reply  to  their  question,  "  Why,  Harry, 
where  did  you  come  from?  "  I  answered,  "  I  came 
from  school,  and  I  'm  off  for  the  war ! "  You 
may  well  believe  there  was  an  exciting  time  of 
it  in  the  dining-room  of  that  old  red  farm-house 
then.  In  the  midst  of  the  excitement,  father 
came  in  from  the  field  and  greeted  me  with, 
"Why,  my  boy,  where  did  you  come  from?"  to 
which  there  was  but  one  answer,  "  Came  from 
school,  and  off  for  the  war !  " 

"  Nonsense ;  I  can't  let  you  go !  I  thought  you 
had  given  up  all  idea  of  that.    What  would  they 


OFF   TO   THE   WAR  u 

do  with  a  mere  boy  like  you?  Why,  you  'd  be 
only  a  bill  of  expense  to  the  government.  Dread- 
ful thing  to  make  me  all  this  trouble ! " 

But  I  began  to  reason  with  poor  father.  I  re- 
minded him,  first  of  all,  that  I  would  not  go  with- 
out his  consent;  that  in  two  years,  and  perhaps 
less,  I  might  be  drafted  and  sent  amongst  men 
unknown  to  me,  while  here  was  a  company  com- 
manded by  my  own  school-teacher,  and  composed 
of  acquaintances  who  would  look  after  me;  that 
I  was  unfit  for  study  or  work  wmile  this  fever 
was  on  me,  and  so  on,  till  I  saw  his  resolution 
begin  to  give  way,  as  he  lighted  his  pipe  and 
walked  down  to  the  spring  to  think  the  matter 
over. 

"  If  Harry  is  to  go,  father/'  mother  says, 
"had  n't  I  better  run  up  to  the  store  and  get 
some  woolens,  and  we  '11  make  the  boy  an  outfit 
of  shirts  yet  to-night?" 

"Well, — yes;  I  guess  you  had  better  do  so." 

But  when  he  sees  mother  stepping  past  the 
gate  on  her  way,  he  halts  her  with — 

"  Stop !  That  boy  can't  go !  I  can't  give  him 
up!" 

And  shortly  after  he  tells  her  that  she  "had 
better   be   after   getting   that   woolen   stuff   for 


12  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

shirts,"  and  again  he  stops  her  at  the  gate 
with— 

"  Dreadful  boy !  Why  will  he  make  me  all  this 
trouble  ? .  I  can  not  let  my  boy  go !  " 

But  at  last  and  somehow  mother  gets  off. 
The  sewing-machine  is  going  most  of  the  night, 
and  my  thoughts  are  as  busy  as  it  is,  until  far 
into  the  morning,  with  all  that  is  before  me  that 
I  have  never  seen — and  all  that  is  behind  me 
that  I  may  never  seen  again. 

Let  me  pass  over  the  trying  good-by  the  next 
morning,  for  Joe  is  ready  with  the  carriage  to 
take  father  and  me  to  the  station,  and  we  are 
soon  on  the  cars,  steaming  away  toward  the 
great  camp,  whither  the  company  already  has 
gone. 

"  See,  Harry,  there  is  your  camp."  And  look- 
ing out  of  the  car  window,  across  the  river,  I 
catch,  through  the  tall  tree-tops,  as  we  rush 
along,  glimpses  of  my  first  camp, — acres  and 
acres  of  canvas,  stretching  away  into  the  dim 
and  dusty  distance,  occupied,  as  I  shall  soon  find, 
by  some  ten  or  twenty  thousand  soldiers,  com- 
ing and  going  continually,  marching  and  counter- 
marching until  they  have  ground  the  soil  into 
the  dirtiest  and  deepest  dust  I  ever  saw. 


OFF   TO   THE   WAR  15 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  impressions  of 
camp-life  as  father  and  I  passed  the  sentry  at 
the  gate.  They  were  anything  but  pleasant,  and 
I  could  not  but  agree  with  the  remark  of  my 
father,  that  "  the  life  of  a  soldier  must  be  a  hard 
life,  indeed/'  for,  as  we  entered  that  great  camp 
I  looked  into  an  A-tent,  the  front  flap  of  which 
was  thrown  back,  and  saw  enough  to  make  me 
sick  of  the  housekeeping  of  a  soldier.  There  was 
nothing  in  that  tent  but  dirt  and  disorder,  pans 
and  kettles,  tin  cups  and  cracker-boxes,  forks 
and  bayonet  scabbards,  greasy  pork  and  broken 
hard-tack  in  utter  confusion,  and  over  all  and 
everywhere  that  insufferable  dust.  Afterward, 
when  we  got  into  the  field,  our  camps  in  sum- 
mer-time were  models  of  cleanliness,  and  in  win- 
ter models  of  comfort,  as  far  at  least  as  ax  and 
broom  could  make  them  so;  but  this,  the  first 
camp  I  ever  saw,  was  so  abominable,  that  I  have 
often  wondered  it  did  not  frighten  the  fever  out 
of  me. 

But  once  among  the  men  of  the  company,  all 
this  was  soon  forgotten.  We  had  supper— hard- 
tack and  soft  bread,  boiled  pork,  and  strong  cof- 
fee (in  tin  cups),  fare  that  father  thought  "one 
could  live  on  right  well,  I  guess,"  and  then  the 


1 6  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

boys  came  around  and  begged  father  to  let  me 
go;  "they  would  take  care  of  Harry;  never  you 
fear  for  that/'  and  so  helped  on  my  cause  that 
that  night,  about  eleven  o'clock,  when  we  were 
in  the  railroad  station  together  on  the  way  home, 
father  said: 

"  Now,  Harry,  my  boy,  you  are  not  enlisted 
yet;  I  am  going  home  on  this  train;  you  can  go 
home  with  me  now,  or  go  with  the  boys.  Which 
will  you  do?" 

To  which  the  answer  came  quickly  enough; 
too  quickly  and  too  eagerly,  I  have  often  since 
thought,  for  a  father's  heart  to  bear  it  well : 

"  Father,  I  '11  go  with  the  boys ! " 

"Well,  then,  good-by,  my  boy!  and  may  God 
bless  you  and  bring  you  safely  back  to  me  again !  " 

The  whistle  blew  "  off  brakes,"  the  car  door 
closed  on  father,  and  I  did  not  see  him  again  for 
three  long,  long  years ! 

Often  and  often  have  I  thought  over  these 
things  since.  I  have  never  been  able  to  come 
to  any  other  conclusion  than  this:  that  it  was 
the  "  war  fever "  that  carried  me  off,  and  that 
made  poor  father  let  me  go.  For  that  "war 
fever"  was  a  terrible  malady  in  those  days. 
Once  you  were  taken  with  it,  you  had  a  very  fire 


OFF   TO   THE   WAR  17 

in  the  bones  until  your  name  was  down  on  the 
enlistment-roll.  There  was  Andy,  for  example, 
afterward  my  mess-mate.  He  was  on  his  way 
to  school  the  very  morning  the  company  was 
leaving  the  village,  with  no  idea  of  going  along ; 
but  seeing  this,  that,  and  the  other  acquaintance 
in  line,  what  did  he  do  but  run  across  the  street 
to  an  undertaker's  shop,  cram  his  school-books 
through  the  broken  window,  take  his  place  in  line, 
and  march  off  with  the  boys  without  so  much 
as  saying  good-by  to  the  folks  at  home!  And 
he  did  not  see  his  Caesar  and  Greek  grammar 
again  for  three  years. 

I  open  my  journal  and  read: 

"Sept.  2d.  —  Received  part  of  our  uniforms, 
and  I  got  a  new  drum.  Had  a  trial  at  double- 
quick  this  evening  till  we  were  all  out  of  breath, 
after  which  thirty-five  of  our  men  were  detailed 
as  camp-guard  for  the  first  time.  They  stand 
guard  two  hours  out  of  every  six. 

"Sept.  3d.  — Slept  soundly  last  night  on  the 
ground,  although  the  cold  was  severe.  Have 
purchased  an  India-rubber  blanket— 'gum' 
blanket,  we  call  it,  to  keep  off  the  dampness.  To- 
day were  mustered  into  service.  We  were  all 
drawn  up  in  line.     Every  man  raised  his  right 


i8 


CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 


hand,  while  an  officer  recited  the  oath.  It  took 
only  a  few  minutes,  but  when  it  was  over  one 
of  the  boys  exclaimed :  '  Now,  fellows,  I  'd  like 
to  see  any  man  go  home  if  he  dare.  We  belong 
to  Uncle  Sam  now/  " 

Of  the  one  thousand  men  drawn  up  in  line 
there  that  day,  some  lived  to  come  back  three 
years  later  and  be  drawn  up  in  line  again,  almost 
on  that  identical  spot,  and  how  many  do  you 
think  there  were?  No  more  than  one  hundred 
and  fifty. 


A   CAMP   OVEN 


VIRGINIA  SCENES  IN  '6i 


BY    CONSTANCE    CARY    HARRISON 

(Mrs.   Burton   Harrison) 


THE  only  association  I  have  with  my  old  home 
in  Virginia  that  is  not  one  of  unmixed  hap- 
piness relates  to  the  time  immediately  succeed- 
ing the  execution  of  John  Brown  at  Charlestown. 
Our  homestead  was  in  Fairfax  County,  at  some 
distance  from  the  theater  of  that  tragic  episode; 
and,  belonging  as  we  did  to  a  family  among  the 
first  in  the  State  to  manumit  (release)  slaves, — 
our  grandfather  having  set  free  those  that  came 
to  him  by  inheritance,  and  the  people  who  served 
us  being  hired  from  their  owners  and  remaining 
in  our  employ  through  years  of  kindliest  rela- 
tions,— there  seemed  to  be  no  especial  reason  for 
us  to  share  in  the  apprehension  of  an  uprising 
of  the  blacks.  But  there  was  the  fear — unspoken, 
or  pooh-poohed  at  by  the  men  who  were  mouth- 
pieces for  our  community— dark,  boding,  oppres- 

19 


20  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

sive,  and  altogether  hateful.  I  can  remember 
taking  it  to  bed  with  me  at  night,  and  awaking 
suddenly  oftentimes  to  confront  it  through  a 
vigil  of  nervous  terror,  of  which  it  never  occurred 
to  me  to  speak  to  any  one.  The  notes  of  whip- 
poor-wills  in  the  sweet-gum  swamp  near  the 
stable,  the  mutterings  of  a  distant  thunder-storm, 
even  the  rustle  of  the  night  wind  in  the  oaks  that 
shaded  my  window,  filled  me  with  nameless 
dread.  In  the  daytime  it  seemed  impossible  to 
associate  suspicion  with  those  familiar  tawny  or 
sable  faces  that  surrounded  us.  We  had  seen 
them  for  so  many  years  smiling  or  saddening  with 
the  family  joys  or  sorrows;  they  were  so  guile- 
less, so  patient,  so  satisfied.  What  subtle  influ- 
ence was  at  work  that  should  transform  them 
into  tigers  thirsting  for  our  blood?  The  idea 
was  preposterous.  But  when  evening  came  again, 
and  with  it  the  hour  when  the  colored  people 
(who  in  summer  and  autumn  weather  kept  astir 
half  the  night)  assembled  themselves  together 
for  dance  or  prayer-meeting,  the  ghost  that  re- 
fused to  be  laid  was  again  at  one's  elbow.  Rusty 
bolts  were  drawn  and  rusty  fire-arms  loaded.  A 
watch  was  set  where  never  before  had  eye  or  ear 
been  lent  to  such  a  service.  In  short,  peace  had 
flown  from  the  borders  of  Virginia. 


VIRGINIA  SCENES   IN  '6i  21 

Although  the  newspapers  were  full  of  seces- 
sion talk  and  the  matter  was  eagerly  discussed 
at  our  tables,  I  cannot  remember  that,  as  late  as 
Christmas-time  of  the  year  i860,  coming  events 
had  cast  any  definite  shadow  on  our  homes.  The 
people  in  our  neighborhood,  of  one  opinion  with 
their  dear  and  honored  friend,  Colonel  Robert 
E.  Lee,  of  Arlington,  were  slow  to  accept  the 
startling  suggestion  of  disruption  of  the  Union. 
At  any  rate,  we  enjoyed  the  usual  holiday  gather- 
ing of  kinsfolk  in  the  usual  fashion.  The  old 
Vaucluse  house,  known  for  many  years  past  as  a 
center  of  cheerful  hospitality  in  the  county,  threw 
wide  open  its  doors  to  receive  all  the  members 
who  could  be  gathered  there  of  a  large  family 
circle.  The  woods  about  were  despoiled  of  holly 
and  spruce,  pine  and  cedar,  to  deck  the  walls 
and  wreathe  the  picture-frames.  On  Christmas 
Eve  we  had  a  grand  rally  of  youths  and  boys 
belonging  to  the  "  clan,"  as  they  loved  to  call  it, 
to  roll  in  a  yule  log,  which  was  deposited  upon 
a  glowing  bed  of  coals  in  the  big  "red-parlor" 
fire-place,  and  sit  about  it  afterward,  welcoming 
the  Christmas  in  with  goblets  of  egg-nog  and 
apple-toddy. 

"Where  shall  we  be  a  year  hence?"  some  one 
asked  at  a  pause  in  the  merry  chat;  and,  in  the 


22  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

brief  silence  that  followed,  arose  a  sudden  spec- 
tral thought  of  war.  All  felt  its  presence;  no 
one  cared  to  speak  first  of  its  grim  possibilities. 

On  Christmas  Eve  of  the  following  year  the 
old  house  lay  in  ruins,  a  sacrifice  by  Union  troops 
to  military  necessity;  the  forest  giants  that  kept 
watch  around  her  walls  had  been  cut  down  and 
made  to  serve  as  breastworks  for  a  fort  erected 
on  the  Vaucluse  property  as  part  of  the  defenses 
of  Washington.  Of  the  young  men  and  boys 
who  took  part  in  that  holiday  festivity,  all  were 
in  the  active  service  of  the  South,  — one  of  them, 
alas !  soon  to  fall  under  a  rain  of  shot  and  shell 
beside  his  gun  at  Fredericksburg;  the  youngest 
of  the  number  had  left  his  mother's  knee  to  fight 
at  Manassas,  and  found  himself,  before  the  year 
was  out,  a  midshipman  aboard  the  Confederate 
steamer  Nashville,  on  her  cruise  in  distant  seas! 

My  first  vivid  impression  of  war-days  was  dur- 
ing a  ramble  in  the  neighboring  woods  one  Sun- 
day afternoon  in  spring,  when  the  young  people 
in  a  happy  band  set  out  in  search  of  wild  flowers. 
Pink  honeysuckles,  blue  lupine,  beds  of  fairy 
flax,  anemones,  and  ferns  in  abundance  sprang 
under  the  canopy  of  young  leaves  on  the  forest 
boughs,  and  the  air  was  full  of  the  song  of  birds 


24  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

and  the  music  of  running  waters.  We  knew 
every  mossy  path  far  and  near  in  those  woods; 
every  tree  had  been  watched  and  cherished  by 
those  who  went  before  us,  and  dearer  than  any 
other  spot  on  earth  was  our  tranquil,  sweet  Vau- 
cluse.  Suddenly  the  shrill  whistle  of  a  locomotive 
struck  the  ear,  an  unwonted  sound  on  Sunday. 
"  Do  you  know  what  that  means  ?  "  said  one  of 
the  older  cousins  who  accompanied  the  party. 
"  It  is  the  special  train  carrying  Alexandria  vol- 
unteers to  Manassas,  and  to-morrow  I  shall  fol- 
low with  my  company."  Silence  fell  upon  our 
little  band.  A  cloud  seemed  to  come  between 
us  and  the  sun.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the  end 
too  soon  to  come. 

The  story  of  one  broken  circle  is  the  story  of 
another  at  the  outset  of  such  a  war.  Before  the 
week  was  over,  the  scattering  of  our  household, 
which  no  one  then  believed  to  be  more  than  tem- 
porary, had  begun.  Living  as  we  did  upon 
ground  likely  to  be  in  the  track  of  armies  gather- 
ing to  confront  each  other,  it  was  deemed  advis- 
able to  send  the  children  and  young  girls  into 
a  place  more  remote  from  chances  of  danger. 
Some  weeks  later  the  heads  of  the  household, 
two  widowed  sisters  whose  sons  were  at  Manas- 


VIRGINIA  SCENES   IN   '61  25 

sas,  drove  away  from  their  home  in  their  car- 
riage at  early  morning,  having  spent  the  previous 
night  in  company  with  a  half-grown  lad  digging 
in  the  cellar  hasty  graves  for  the  interment  of 
two  boxes  of  old  English  silver-ware,  heirlooms 
in  the  family,  for  which  there  was  no  time  to 
provide  otherwise.  Although  the  enemy  were 
long  encamped  immediately  above  it  after  the 
house  was  burnt  the  following  year,  this  silver 
was  found  there  when  the  war  had  ended;  it  was 
lying  loose  in  the  earth,  the  boxes  having  rotted 
away. 

The  point  at  which  our  family  reunited  within 
the  Confederate  lines  was  Bristoe,  the  station 
next  beyond  Manassas,  a  cheerless  railway  inn; 
a  part  of  the  premises  was  used  as  a  country 
grocery  store;  and  there  quarters  were  secured 
for  us  with  a  view  to  being  near  the  army. 

Thanks  to  our  own  carriage,  we  were  able 
during  those  rallying  days  of  June  to  drive  fre- 
quently to  visit  "  the  boys  "  in  camp,  timing  the 
expeditions  to  include  battalion  drill  and  dress 
parade,  and  taking  tea  afterward  in  the  different 
tents.  Then  were  the  gala  days  of  war,  and  our 
proud  hosts  hastened  to  produce  home  dainties 
dispatched  from  the  far-away  plantations — tears 


VIRGINIA  SCENES   IN   '6i  27 

and  blessings  interspersed  amid  the  packing,  we 
were  sure;  though  I  have  seen  a  pretty  girl  per- 
sist in  declining  other  fare,  to  make  her  meal 
upon  raw  biscuit  and  huckleberry  pie  compounded 
by  the  bright-eyed  amateur  cook  of  a  well-beloved 
mess.     Feminine  heroism  could  no  farther  go. 

And  so  the  days  wore  on  until  the  17th  of  July, 
when  a  rumor  from  the  front  sent  an  electric 
shock  through  our  circle.  The  enemy  were  mov- 
ing forward!  On  the  morning  of  the  18th  those 
who  had  been  able  to  sleep  at  all  awoke  early 
to  listen  for  the  first  guns  of  the  engagement 
of  Blackburn's  Ford.  Deserted  as  the  women  at 
Bristoe  were  by  every  male  creature  old  enough 
to  gather  news,  there  was,  for  us,  no  way  of 
knowing  the  progress  of  events  during  the  long, 
long  day  of  waiting,  of  watching,  of  weeping, 
of  praying,  of  rushing  out  upon  the  railway  track 
to  walk  as  far  as  we  dared  in  the  direction  whence 
came  that  intolerable  booming  of  artillery.  The 
cloud  of  dun  smoke  arising  over  Manassas  be- 
came heavier  in  volume  as  the  day  progressed. 
Still,  not  a  word  of  tidings,  till  toward  afternoon 
there  came  limping  up  a  single,  very  dirty  sol- 
dier with  his  arm  in  a  sling.  What  a  heavensend 
he  was,  if  only  as  an  escape-valve  for  out  pent-up 


28  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

sympathies!  We  seized  him,  we  washed  him, 
we  cried  over  him,  we  glorified  him  until  the  man 
was  fairly  bewildered.  Our  best  endeavors  could 
only  develop  a  pin-scratch  of  a  wound  on  his 
right  hand ;  but  when  our  hero  had  laid  in  a  sub- 
stantial meal  of  bread  and  meat,  we  plied  him 
with  trembling  questions,  each  asking  news  of 
some  staff  or  regiment  or  company.  It  has 
since  occurred  to  me  that  he  was  a  humorist  in 
disguise.    His  invariable  reply,  as  he  looked  from 

one  to  the  other  of  his  satellites,  was :  "  The 

Virginia,  marm?  Why,  of  coase.  They  warn't 
no  two  ways  o'  thinkin'  'bout  that  ar  reg'ment. 
They  just  kivered  tharselves  with  glory!" 

A  little  later  two  wagon-loads  of  slightly 
wounded  claimed  our  care,  a.nd  with  them  came 
authentic  news  of  the  day.  Most  of  us  received 
notes  on  paper  torn  from  a  soldier's  pocket-book 
and  grimed  with  gunpowder,  containing  assur- 
ance of  the  safety  of  the  town.  At  nightfall  a 
train*  carrying  more  wounded  to  the  hospitals  at 
Culpeper  made  a  halt  at  Bristoe;  and,  preceded 
by  men  holding  lanterns,  we  went  in  among  the 
stretchers  with  milk,  food,  and  water  to  the  suf- 
ferers. One  of  the  first  discoveries  I  made,  bend- 
ing over  in  that  fitful  light,  was  a  young  officer 


VIRGINIA  SCENES   IN  '61 


29 


whom  I  knew  to  be  a  special  object  of  solicitude 
with  one  of  my  comrades  in  the  search;  but  he 
was  badly  hurt,  and  neither  he  nor  she  knew  the 
other  was  near  until  the  train  had  moved  on.  The 
next  day,  and  the  next,  were  full  of  burning  ex- 


*7  /*'"  w  *»/ 

LISTENING    FOR    THE    FIRST    GUN 


citement  over  the  impending  general  engagement, 
which  people  then  said  would  decide  the  fate  of 
the  young  Confederacy.  Fresh  troops  came  by 
with  every  train,  and  we  lived  only  to  turn  from 
one  scene  to  another  of  welcome  and  farewell. 
On  Saturday  evening  arrived  a  message  from 


lo  CIVIL  WAR   STORIES 

General  Beauregard,  saying  that  early  on  Sun- 
day an  engine  and  car  would  be  put  at  our  dis- 
posal, to  take  us  to  some  point  more  remote  from 
danger.  We  looked  at  one  another,  and,  tacitly 
agreeing  the  gallant  general  had  sent  not  an  or- 
der but  a  suggestion,  declined  his  kind  proposal. 
With  August  heats  and  lack  of  water,  Bristoe 
was  forsaken  for  quarters  near  Culpeper,  where 
my  mother  went  into  the  soldiers'  barracks, 
sharing  soldiers'  accommodations,  to  nurse  the 
wounded.  In  September  quite  a  party  of  us,  upon 
invitation,  visited  the  different  headquarters. 
We  stopped  overnight  at  Manassas,  five  ladies, 
sleeping  upon  a  couch  made  of  rolls  of  cartridge- 
flannel,  in  a  tent  guarded  by  a  faithful  sentry. 
I  remember  the  comical  effect  of  the  five  bird- 
cages (of  a  kind  without  which  no  self-respecting 
young  woman  of  that  day  would  present  herself 
in  public)  suspended  upon  a  line  running  across 
the  upper  part  of  our  tent,  after  we  had  reluc- 
tantly removed  them  in  order  to  adjust  ourselves 
for  repose.  Our  progress  during  that  memorable 
visit  was  royal ;  an  ambulance  with  a  picked  troop 
of  cavalrymen  had  been  placed  at  our  service, 
and  the  convoy  was  " personally  conducted"  by 
a  pleasing  variety  of  distinguished  officers.     It 


VIRGINIA   SCENES   IN   '6i  31 

was  at  this  time,  after  a  supper  at  the  headquar- 
ters of  the  "  Maryland  line  "  at  Fairfax,  that  the 
afterward  universal  war-song,  "  My  Maryland!" 
was  put  afloat  upon  the  tide  of  army  favor. 

Another  incident  of  note,  during  the  autumn 
of  '6i,  was  that  to  my  cousins,  Hetty  and  Jennie 
Cary,  and  to  me  was  intrusted  the  making  of 
the  first  three  battle-flags  of  the  Confederacy. 
They  were  jaunty  squares  of  scarlet  crossed  with 
dark  blue  edged  with  white,  the  cross  bearing 
stars  to  indicate  the  number  of  the  seceded  States. 
We  set  our  best  stitches  upon  them,  edged  them 
with  golden  fringes,  and,  when  they  were  fin- 
ished, dispatched  one  to  Johnston,  another  to 
Beauregard,  and  the  third  to  Earl  Van  Dorn, 
then  commanding  infantry  at  Manassas.  The 
banners  were  received  with  all  possible  enthu- 
siasm; were  toasted,  feted,  and  cheered  abun- 
dantly. After  two  years,  when  Van  Dorn  had 
been  killed  in  Tennessee,  mine  came  back  to  me, 
tattered  and  storm-stained  from  long  and  honor- 
able service  in  the  field.  But  it  was  only  a  little 
while  after  it  had  been  bestowed  that  there  ar- 
rived one  day  at  our  lodgings  in  Culpeper  a  huge, 
bashful  Mississippi  scout,  — one  of  the  most  dar- 
ing in  the  army, — with  the  frame  of  a  Hercules 


32  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

and  the  face  of  a  child.  He  had  been  bidden  to 
come  there  by  his  general,  he  said,  to  ask,  if  I 
would  not  give  him  an  order  to  fetch  some  cher- 
ished object  from  my  dear  old  home— something 
that  would  prove  to  me  "  how  much  they  thought 
of  the  maker  of  that  flag!"  A  week  later  I  was 
the  astonished  recipient  of  a  lamented  bit  of  finery 
left  "within  the  lines,"  a  wrap,  brought  to  us 
by  Dillon  himself,  with  a  beaming  face.  Mounted 
on  a  load  of  fire-wood,  he  had  gone  through  the 
Union  pickets,  and  while  peddling  poultry  had 
presented  himself  at  the  house  of  my  uncle,  Dr. 
Fairfax,  in  Alexandria,  whence  he  carried  off 
his  prize  in  triumph,  with  a  letter  in  its  folds 
telling  us  how  relatives  left  behind  longed  to 
be  sharing  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  those  at  large 
in  the  Confederacy. 


iA/^ 


THE  MERRIMAC  AND  THE  MONITOR 

BY    GENERAL    ADAM    BADEAU 

IN  the  first  year  of  the  Civil  War,  there  were 
two  ships  being  built  unlike  any  that  had  ever 
been  seen  in  this  world;  one  at  Norfolk,  in  Vir- 
ginia, and  the  other  at  Brooklyn,  in  the  State 
of  New  York.  Up  to  that  time  the  navies  of  all 
nations  had  been  made  of  wood;  and  when  a 
wooden  ship  is  struck  in  battle,  every  child  knows 
it  may  be  set  on  fire,  or  so  torn  to  pieces  that  un- 
less the  rush  of  water  into  the  hole  is  instantly 
stopped,  the  ship  must  sink.  This  is  what  makes 
a  sea-fight  so  terrible. 

Now,  it  occurred  to  the  leaders  on  both  sides 
in  the  great  war,  that  if  they  could  cover  a  ship 
with  iron  which  a  cannon-ball  could  not  pene- 
trate, that  ship  would  be  able  to  destroy  all  its 
enemies.  It  would  be  like  some  of  the  wonders 
of  the  "  Arabian  Nights  " ;  whoever  possessed  this 
enchanted  vessel  could  do  infinite  harm  to  others 

33 


34  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

without  receiving  any  damage  in  return.  He 
could  attack  and  demolish  whole  fleets,  and  not 
only  fleets,  but  even  forts,  and  the  cities  which 
the  fleets  and  forts  defended.  So  both  sides  set 
to  work  to  try  to  build  such  a  wonderful  ship. 

The  Southerners  got  the  start.  They  were 
blockaded  from  the  world,  and  had  neither  means 
nor  material  to  construct  an  ordinary  vessel  of 
war;  but  their  energy  was  great,  and  they  pos- 
sessed the  American  faculty  of  invention. 

If  you  look  at  a  map,  you  will  see  that  the 
city  of  Norfolk  stands  on  the  Elizabeth  River, 
only  a  few  miles  south  of  the  point  where  that 
stream  empties  into  the  James.  It  is,  however, 
completely  hidden  from  view  at  the  mouth  by  the 
windings  of  the  river.  Here,  before  the  war, 
the  United  States  owned  a  large  navy-yard  which, 
early  in  1861,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Confed- 
erates, but  not  until  all  the  vessels  had  been  either 
sunk  or  burned.  Among  the  ships  thus  destroyed 
was  a  huge  steam  frigate,  called  the  Merrimac, 
carrying  forty  guns,  —  one  of  the  largest  vessels 
in  the  American  navy. 

This  wreck  the  Southerners  thought  would  do 
for  their  purposes.  They  hoisted  it  out  of  its 
miry  bed,  and  then  cut  it  down  till  the  deck  was 


THE   MERRIMAC  AND   THE   MONITOR     35 

level  with  the  water.  Next  they  boarded  over 
each  end  for  more  than  seventy  feet.  Then,  on 
the  middle  portion,  one  hundred  and  seventy  feet 
long,  they  built  a  wooden  wall,  rising  on  all  sides 
seven  feet  from  the  water's  edge,  and  sloping  in- 
ward like  a  roof,  till  the  sides  came  within  twenty 
feet  of  each  other  at  the  top.  This  wall,  or  roof, — 
you  may  call  it  which  you  please,  —  they  com- 
pletely covered  with  iron  plates  four  inches  thick, 
riveted  into  the  wood.  The  vessel  then  looked 
like  a  huge  iron  box,  or  a  long,  low  fort  with  port- 
holes in  the  sides  through  which  the  guns  could 
be  fired.  There  were  ten  of  these  guns;  one 
at  each  end,  bow  and  stern,  the  others  at  the  sides. 
In  front  was  an  iron  horn,  or  ram,  that  projected 
two  feet  and  a  half,  intended  to  strike  and  pierce 
the  vessel  of  the  enemy.  The  top  of  the  box  was 
covered  with  an  iron  grating  to  keep  off  some 
of  the  mischief  of  shells  falling  from  above. 
Through  this  grating  came  all  the  light  and  air 
that  the  crew  received,  and  when  the  ship  was 
not  in  battle,  it  served  for  a  promenade.  The  ves- 
sel was  worked  with  the  old  engines,  which  had 
of  course  been  greatly  damaged  by  the  burning 
and  sinking  they  had  undergone.  Nothing  at 
all  like  this  structure  had  ever  been  known  in 


36  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

war.  One  or  two  iron  ships  had  been  built  in 
England  and  France,  but  none  had  ever  been  used 
in  actual  battle.  The  Merrimac  was  an  experi- 
ment. She  was,  indeed,  hardly  a  ship,  but  a  float- 
ing fort. 

The  Southerners  had  no  navy,  and  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  find  a  crew;  but  three  hundred  men,  who 
had  once  been  sailors,  were  finally  recruited  from 
their  army.  The  commander  was  Commodore 
Buchanan,  and  the  next  in  rank  Lieutenant  Jones, 
both  of  whom  had  been  officers  of  the  United 
States  Navy. 

Every  effort  was  made  to  keep  the  building  of 
the  new  ship  a  secret  from  the  North,  but  this 
proved  impossible,  and  the  Washington  govern- 
ment at  once  set  about  preparing  to  meet  so  for- 
midable an  enemy.  For  if  the  Merrimac  proved 
a  success,  she  could  destroy  any  ship  in  the  world, 
enter  any  harbor  at  the  North,  passing  the  forts, 
and  fire  directly  into  the  heart  of  New  York  or 
Boston  from  the  bay.  Nothing  could  withstand 
a  ship  the  armor  of  which  was  impenetrable. 

Captain  John  Ericsson,  a  Swede  by  birth,  but 
an  American  citizen,  had  long  been  planning  an 
iron-clad  ship  of  his  own,  and  his  plans  were  now 
laid  before  the  government  and  accepted.     He 


THE   MERRIMAC  AND   THE   MONITOR     tf 

built  at  Brooklyn,  in  New  York  harbor,  what  he 
called  a  fighting  machine.  Instead  of  a  great 
floating  fort,  heavy  and  difficult  to  move,  he  de- 
signed a  small  battery  of  only  two  heavy  guns, 
which  was  to  be  able  to  move  in  shallow  water 
where  the  great  ship  could  not  go,  to  be  itself  as 
fully  protected  by  its  iron  armor  as  the  Merrimac, 
but,  being  small,  to  be  easily  handled ;  to  be  able  to 
turn  more  quickly,  to  approach  the  enemy  at  close 
quarters  when  it  chose,  and  to  escape  every  at- 
tack which  it  could  not  withstand.  The  great 
question,  however,  was  the  protection— the  armor. 
To  provide  for  this,  Ericsson  contrived  a  struc- 
ture, you  can  hardly  call  it  a  ship,  one  hundred 
and  seventy  feet  long,  and  about  forty  wide,  and 
reaching  eleven  feet  below  the  water,  while  the 
deck  was  only  one  foot  above.  There  was  nothing 
whatever  above  the  deck  but  the  pilot-house,  and 
a  revolving  iron  tower  with  two  guns  on  the  in- 
side ;  these  were  the  only  cannon  aboard,  but  they 
fired  shot  weighing  one  hundred  and  eighty 
pounds.  The  object  of  the  revolving  tower  was 
to  be  able  to  get  along  with  fewer  guns.  By 
turning  the  tower,  the  same  gun  could  be  used 
in  any  direction;  whereas,  in  a  great  unwieldy 
ship  the  whole  mass  must  turn,  or  you  can  only 


38  CIVIL  WAR   STORIES 

fire  from  one  side.  The  tower  or  turret  was 
twenty  feet  across  and  nine  feet  high.  The  tops 
of  the  smoke  pipes  also  rose  six  feet  above  the 
deck,  and  the  blower  pipes  four  and  a  half  feet; 
but  when  the  thing  was  fighting,  these  pipes  were 
removed,  and  the  openings  were  covered  with  iron 
gratings,  so  that  there  was  nothing  to  aim  at, 
nothing  to  be  struck  or  injured,  but  the  turret  and 
the  pilot-house.  The  deck  was  plated  with  iron, 
which  hung  over  so  as  to  guard  the  hull. 

The  pilot-house  was  extremely  small,  contain- 
ing just  space  for  three  men  and  the  wheel.  It 
was  built  entirely  of  iron,  in  solid  blocks  twelve 
inches  deep  and  nine  inches  thick.  The  only  look- 
out was  through  an  opening  left  between  the 
blocks,  making  a  long  and  narrow  sight-hole  all 
around  the  pilot-house,  five-eighths  of  an  inch  in 
width.  In  battle  the  commanding  officer  was  to 
remain  in  the  pilot-house,  and  direct  the  action  of 
the  ship  and  the  guns,  while  the  next  in  rank,  the 
executive  officer,  superintended  the  firing.  A 
speaking-trumpet  connected  the  pilot-house  and 
the  turret  and  conveyed  the  commander's  orders. 
Everything  else — engines,  boilers,  anchor,  officers' 
rooms,  quarters  for  the  men — all  were  below;  all 
shielded  from  the  enemy  by  the  iron  armor  reach- 


THE   MERRIMAC  AND   THE   MONITOR     39 

ing  over  the  deck  on  the  outside.  The  whole  thing- 
looked  like  a  cheese-box  on  a  raft,  or  as  one  of 
the  Southerners  said  when  he  saw  it  for  the  first 
time — like  a  tin  can  on  a  shingle.  Ericsson  called 
it  the  Monitor,  because  it  was  to  admonish,  or 
warn,  the  Southerners  that  they  could  not  resist 
the  Union. 

As  the  news  came  North  that  the  Merrimac 
was  nearly  complete,  and  might  come  out  of  her 
hiding  place  in  the  Elizabeth  River  at  any  time, 
work  was  pressed  on  the  Monitor  night  and  day. 
For  the  whole  result  of  the  war  might  be  changed 
if  the  Confederate  monster  got  out  of  the  James. 
Indeed,  if  the  Monitor  met  her,  it  was  uncertain 
whether  this  strange  invention  of  Ericsson  could 
withstand  the  gigantic  ship.  Still  there  was  this 
chance,  the  only  one.  The  little  craft  was  begun 
in  October,  1861,  and  in  less  than  a  hundred  days 
was  launched.  On  the  25th  of  February  she  was 
handed  over  to  the  government.  She  had  a  ship's 
company  of  fifty-eight  souls,  Lieutenant  Worden 
commanding,  and  Lieutenant  Greene,  a  boy  of 
twenty-two,  next  in  rank. 

Hampton  Roads  is  the  name  given  to  the  broad 
sheet  of  water  at  the  mouth  of  the  James,  into 
which  that  river  expands  before  it  empties  into 


4Q  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

Chesapeake  Bay.  On  Saturday,  the  8th  of 
March,  a  Union  fleet  was  moving  about  this  har- 
bor between  Fortress  Monroe,  at  the  entrance  of 
the  bay,  and  Newport  News,  a  point  that  juts  out 
from  the  northern  shore  seven  miles  up  the  river. 
Off  Newport  News  two  sailing  frigates  were  an- 
chored, about  three  hundred  yards  from  shore— 
the  Cumberland  of  thirty  guns,  and  the  Congress 
carrying  fifty  cannon — both  first-class  men-of- 
war.  Farther  toward  the  sea  was  the  Minnesota, 
a  steam  frigate  of  forty  guns,  and  still  beyond  her 
lay  the  Roanoke,  her  sister  ship,  and  the  St.  Law- 
rence, a  sailing  vessel  of  war,  —  all  of  the  largest 
size  known. in  the  American  navy.  There  were, 
besides,  several  smaller  steamers,  armed  tugs, 
floating  about  the  Roads.  This  fleet  was  engaged 
in  blockading  the  James — the  only  avenue  be- 
tween Richmond  and  the  sea.  Fortress  Monroe, 
the  great  work  at  the  entrance,  and  a  land  battery 
at  Newport  News  were  the  only  points  on  the 
James  at  that  time  in  the  possession  of  the  North- 
erners ;  but  their  naval  strength  enabled  them  to 
command  the  river  and  prevent  all  communication 
between  Richmond  and  the  outside  world. 

On  the  southern  side  of  the  bav  the  Confeder- 
ates  had  several  batteries,  the  most  important  of 


THE  MERRIMAC  AND  THE  MONITOR    43 

which  was  at  Sewell's  Point,  to  protect  the  mouth 
of  the  Elizabeth  and  the  approach  to  Norfolk. 

About  noon  on  the  8th  of  March,  the  Merrimac 
appeared.  Steaming  out  of  the  Elizabeth  River, 
she  came  into  the  Roads  and  headed  direct  for 
Newport  News,  where  the  Cumberland  and  the 
Congress  lay,  unconscious  of  the  approaching 
danger.  The  Cumberland  was  a  little  west  of 
the  peninsula,  the  Congress  about  two  hundred 
yards  to  the  east.  Both  ships  were  at  anchor,  the 
crews  were  washing  their  clothes,  the  small  boats 
were  fastened  to  the  booms.  But  as  the  mon- 
strous mass  moved  steadily  on,  all  knew  at  once 
what  the  black-looking  object  must  be.  The 
boats  were  dropped  astern,  all  hands  were  ordered 
to  their  places,  and  the  Cumberland  was  swung 
across  the  channel  so  that  her  broadside  would 
bear  against  the  stranger. 

As  the  Merrimac  approached,  she  looked  like  a 
huge  crocodile  floating  on  the  surface  of  the  water. 
Her  iron  sides  rose  slanting  and  like  the  roof  of  a 
house  or  the  arched  back  of  a  tortoise,  the  ram 
projecting  in  front  above  the  water's  edge.  A 
flag  was  floating  from  one  staff  and  a  pennant  at 
the  stern ;  but  not  a  man  could  be  seen  on  the  out- 
side.    She  came  at  the  rate  of  four  or  five  miles 


44  CIVIL  WAR   STORIES 

an  hour.  When  she  got  within  half  a  mile,  the 
Cumberland  opened  fire,  followed  by  the  Con- 
'css,  the  gunboats  and  the  batteries  on  shore. 


The  Merriniac,  however,  made  straight  for  the 
Cumberland,  delivering  a  broadside  into  the  Con- 
gress as  she  passed.  The  Congress  returned  the 
broadside,  and  the  Cumberland  poured  in  another, 
but  the  balls  bounced  like  India-rubber  from  her 
mailed  sides,  making  not  the  slightest  impression. 
The  flagstaff  was  cut  away,  but  no  one  could  get 
out  to  replace  it,  and  she  fought  for  a  while  with 
only  the  pennant  at  her  stern. 

Now  the  Congress  and  the  Cumberland  and  all 
the  shore  batteries  poured  in  their  fire,  and  the 
Merrimae  fired  forward  into  the  Cumberland,  kill- 
ing and  wounding  the  crew  of  one  of  the  guns. 
Two  small  vessels  that  had  followed  in  her  wake 
from  Norfolk  also  took  sides,  and  three  Confeder- 
ate gunboats  came  down  the  James  to  participate, 
while  the  Minnesota,  the  Roanoke,  and  the  St. 
Lazvrenee  all  started  from  their  moorings  for  the 
battle. 

But  the  Merrimae  steered  steadily  for  the  Cum- 
berland and  crushed  her  iron  horn  into  the  vessel's 
side,  making  an  enormous  hole.  The  frigate  was 
forced  back  upon  her  anchors  with  a  tremendous 


THE   MERRIMAC  AND   THE   MONITOR     45 

shock,  and  the  water  at  once  went  rushing  into  the 
hole.  The  Merrimac  then  drew  off,  but  her  ram 
was  broken,  and  she  left  it  sticking  in  the  Cumber- 
land's side.  All  the  Union  vessels  now  poured 
shot  and  shell  into  or  rather  at  the  Merrimac. 
Two  of  her  guns  had  the  muzzles  blown  off,  one  of 
her  anchors  and  all  the  smoke-pipes  were  shot 
away;  ropes,  railings,  timbers,  everything  unpro- 
tected by  armor  was  swept  clean  off.  The  flag- 
staffs  were  repeatedly  shot  away,  and  the  colors 
after  a  while  were  hoisted  to  the  smoke-stack; 
when  that  went,  they  were  fastened  to  a  boarding- 
pike.  One  of  the  crew  came  out  of  a  port-hole  to 
the  outside,  and  was  instantly  killed.  But  the 
armor  was  hardly  damaged,  though  a  hundred 
heavy  guns  must  have  been  turned  on  it  at  once 
from  ship  or  shore. 

The  Merrimac  herself  kept  up  her  fire  on  both 
the  Cumberland  and  the  Congress  from  her  differ- 
ent sides.  After  a  while  she  advanced  again 
towards  the  Cumberland,  and  shot  one  shell  that 
killed  nine  men,  following  this  up  with  a  broadside 
that  mowed  down  officers,  sailors,  and  gunners; 
for  on  the  upper  deck  there  was  no  protection 
whatever.  The  men  stood  up  like  targets,  fight- 
ing against  foes  who  were  themselves  unseen  and 


46  CIVIL  WAR   STORIES 

completely  shielded.  Lieutenant  Morris,  who 
commanded  the  Cumberland,  was  summoned  to 
surrender;  but  he  replied,  "  Never!  I  '11  sink 
alongside."  The  water  all  this  time  was  rushing 
into  the  hole  made  by  the  ram,  the  vessel  had 
been  set  on  fire  in  several  places,  and  the  decks 
were  covered  with  dead  and  dying  men.  The 
Merrimac  was  now  within  three  hundred  yards, 
and  from  her  safe  iron  walls  her  crew  could  send 
each  ball  to  its  mark.  The  water  kept  pouring 
into  the  Cumberland,  not  only  at  the  great  hole 
made  by  the  ram,  but  after  a  while  at  the  port- 
holes. As  the  ship  sank  lower  and  lower,  the 
crew  was  driven  from  deck  to  deck  upward,  work- 
ing the  guns  that  were  left  unsubmerged.  At 
thirty  minutes  past  three  the  water  had  risen  to 
the  spar  deck,  and  the  crew  delivered  a  parting 
fire.  Each  man  then  tried  to  save  himself  by 
jumping  overboard;  some  scrambled  through  the 
port-holes,  others  leaped  from  the  rigging  or  the 
masts,  but  many  went  down  with  the  ship,  which 
settled  with  a  roar,  the  stars  and  stripes  still  wav- 
ing. That  flag  was  finally  submerged,  but  even 
after  the  hull  had  grounded  on  the  sands,  the  pen- 
nant was  still  flying  from  the  topmast  above  the 
waves.     None  of  the  crew  were  captured,  but 


THE   MERRIMAC  AND   THE   MONITOR    47 

nearly  all  the  wounded  were  drowned.  In  all, 
about  a  hundred  were  lost :  small  boats  came  out 
from  shore  and  rescued  the  remainder  under  the 
Confederate  fire. 

The  Merrimac  now  turned  upon  the  Congress, 
which,  seeing  the  fate  of  her  comrade,  had  moved 
in  toward  shore  and  purposely  run  aground, 
where  the  Merrimac  could  not  follow  without  also 
getting  aground.  This  would  have  been  fatal  to 
the  heavy  Confederate  battery,  so  that  there  was 
no  danger  of  the  Merrimac  ramming  the  Con- 
gress. Still,  the  unhappy  frigate  was  at  the 
mercy  of  her  enemy.  The  iron  monster  came  up 
so  close  that  her  crew  fired  pistol-shots  into  the 
port-holes  of  the  Congress.  The  Minnesota  and 
her  sister  frigates  had  all  got  aground  lower  down 
the  bay,  and  were  unable  to  assist  their  struggling 
consort. 

The  Merrimac  at  last  took  a  position  astern,  at 
a  distance  of  only  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards, 
and  raked  her  helpless  antagonist  fore  and  aft. 
The  other  Confederate  vessels  all  came  up  and 
poured  shot  and  shell  into  the  stranded  ship. 
The  commander  was  killed.  There  was  no  pros- 
pect of  relief  from  the  Minnesota.  The  men  were 
knocked  away  from  the  guns  as  fast  as  they  tried 


48  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

to  fire,  and  at  last  not  a  single  piece  could  be 
brought  to  bear  on  the  enemy.  The  ship  was  on 
fire  in  several  places,  and  at  half-past  four  the 
colors  were  lowered.  When  the  father  of  Captain 
Joseph  Smith,  the  commander  of  the  Congress, 
was  told  that  the  Congress  had  shown  the  white 
flag  of  surrender,  he  simply  remarked,  "  Jo  's 
dead."  He  knew  that  his  son  would  not  have  sur- 
rendered had  he  been  alive. 

Buchanan,  who  commanded  the  Merrimac,  at 
once  sent  a  boarding  party,  and  the  flag,  as  well 
as  the  sword  of  the  dead  commander  of  the  Con- 
gress, was  surrendered.  The  second  in  rank  was 
directed  to  transfer  his  wounded  to  the  Merrimac 
as  quickly  as  possible;  but  the  batteries  on  shore 
kept  up  their  fire  and  would  not  permit  the  re- 
moval of  the  prisoners,  although  the  white  flag 
was  flying.  "  We  have  not  surrendered,"  said 
General  Mansfield,  in  command  at  Newport  News. 
As  Buchanan  was  unable  to  take  possession  of 
the  prize,  he  ordered  hot  shell  to  be  fired  at  her, 
and  tHe  Congress  was  soon  in  flames  in  every 
part.  At  the  same  moment  he  was  himself  shot 
and  severely  wounded.  His  brother  was  an  officer 
on  the  Congress,  so  that  they  fought  each  other. 
The  Confederates  were  driven  off  by  the  renewed 


THE   MERRIMAC  AND   THE   MONITOR     49 

fire,  and  the  crew  of  the  Congress  escaped  in  small 
boats,  or  by  swimming,  to  the  shore;  but  thirty 
were  captured  and  many  lost. 

The  Merrimac  now  turned  her  attention  to  the 
Minnesota,  which  was  aground  and  at  the  mercy 
of  the  Confederates.  It  was  only  five  o'clock,  and 
there  were  still  two  hours  of  daylight ;  but  the  tide 
was  ebbing,  and  there  was  some  dispute  on  the 
Merrimac  about  the  channel.  The  Confederates 
supposed  they  had  only  to  wait  till  morning  to 
secure  the  remainder  of  the  fleet :  rescue  was  im- 
possible: the  giant  could  dispatch  whichever  vic- 
tim stood  in  the  way.  So  the  Merrimac  retired  to 
the  entrance  of  the  Elizabeth  River  and  waited  till 
morning  to  resume  her  task.  She  had  lost  two 
men  killed  and  nineteen  wounded. 

During  that  terrible  night  the  Minnesota  lay 
within  a  mile  and  a  half  of  Newport  News,  on  the 
sandbank  where  the  ship  seemed  to  have  made  a 
cradle  for  herself.  At  ten  the  tide  turned  to  flood, 
and  all  hands  were  at  work  from  that  time  till  four 
in  the  morning  with  steam-tugs  and  ropes  en- 
deavoring to  haul  the  ship  off  the  bank,  but  with- 
out avail.  The  St.  Lawrence  and  the  Roanoke 
were  below  in  the  harbor. 

The  moon  was  in  heY  second  quarter.     The 


50  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

mast-head  of  the  Cumberland  could  be  seen  above 
the  waves,  with  her  colors  still  flying,  while  a  little 
south  of  Newport  News  the  Congress  was  in  a 
blaze.  As  the  flames  crept  up  the  rigging,  every 
mast  and  spar  and  rope  glittered  against  the  sky 
in  lines  of  fire.  The  port-holes  in  the  hull  looked 
like  the  mouths  of  fiery  furnaces;  a  shell  or  a 
loaded  gun  went  off  from  time  to  time,  as  the  fire 
reached  it,  and  at  two  o'clock  the  magazine  ex- 
ploded with  a  tremendous  shock  and  sound.  A 
mountain  sheaf  of  flame  went  up,  a  flash  seemed 
to  divide  the  sky,  and  the  blazing  fragments  were 
scattered  in  every  direction.  When  the  glare  sub- 
sided the  rigging  had  vanished,  and  only  the  hull 
remained,  charred  and  shattered.  The  port-holes 
were  blown  into  one  great  gap,  where  the  con- 
flagration blazed  and  smoldered  till  morning. 

That  night  there  was  consternation  not  only  in 
the  fleet  and  at  Fortress  Monroe,  but  farther  yet, 
at  Washington,  and  all  over  the  North.  It 
seemed  as  if  nothing  could  prevent  the  complete 
success  of  the  Merrimac.  The  anxious  vessels 
lay  in  the  Roads,  the  Minnesota  waiting  to  be  de- 
stroyed, like  the  Cumberland  and  the  Congress,  in 
the  morning.  The  President  and  his  cabinet  were 
discussing  gloomily  what  might  happen,  and  in 


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THE   MERRIMAC 'AND   THE   MONITOR     53 

every  city  at  the  North  men  lay  awake  dreading 
the  news  of  the  morrow.  For  it  was  not  only 
that  the  victory  of  the  Union  was  delayed,  that  its 
forces  were  resisted,  its  ships  destroyed,  but  dis- 
aster might  be  carried  to  any  one  of  the  harbors 
or  cities  of  the  Atlantic  by  this  one  vessel,  which 
could  find  no  opponent  to  withstand  her,  since  she 
was  herself  invulnerable  while  able  to  deal  irre- 
sistible blows. 

At  the  South,  on  the  other  hand,  the  rejoicing 
was  extravagant.  The  result  itself  was  exagger- 
ated; the  wildest  hopes  were  cherished.  The 
blockade  was  to  be  raised,  the  war  ended,  the 
South  to  be  made  independent — all  because  of  the 
Merrimac.  On  the  spot,  the  plan  was  to  destroy 
the  Minnesota  in  the  morning,  and  later  the  re- 
mainder of  the  fleet  below  Fortress  Monroe.  The 
crew  of  the  Merrimac  slept  at  their  guns  dream- 
ing of  other  victories. 

But  neither  side  knew  what  was  to  happen  in 
the  morning. 

At  daybreak  Worden  perceived  the  Merrimac 
at  anchor  with  the  Confederate  gunboats,  near 
Sewell's  Point.  At  half-past  seven  the  Titan  got 
under  way,  and  started  direct  for  the  Minnesota. 
At  once  the  little  Monitor  came  out  from  behind 


54  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

the  frigate  to  guard  her  lofty  consort.  Worden 
took  his  station  in  the  pilot-house,  which  projected 
only  four  feet  above  the  deck;  Greene,  with  six- 
teen men,  was  in  the  turret.  The  remainder  of 
the  crew  was  distributed  in  the  engine  and  fire 
rooms,  or  was  in  the  magazine. 

On  the  Merrimac  all  was  elation.  The  crew 
had  slept  and  rested  and  eaten ;  they  had  achieved 
a  magnificent  victory,  and  came  out  only  to  com- 
plete the  success  that  was  already,  they  thought, 
secure.  They  saw  the  little  Monitor  covering  and 
protecting  with  her  diminutive  proportions  the 
mighty  Minnesota,  and  had  no  fear  of  the  result. 

Worden  made  at  once  for  the  enemy's  fleet,  so 
as  to  attack  them  at  as  great  a  distance  as  possible 
from  the  Minnesota.  As  he  approached,  with  one 
or  two  shots  he  drove  the  wooden  vessels  at  once 
out  of  range.  Then,  to  the  astonishment  of  all  the 
spectators  on  the  ships  around  and  on  both  shores, 
the  tiny  Monitor  laid  herself  directly  alongside 
the  Merrimac  and  stopped  her  engines;  the  port- 
hole was  opened,  the  gun  was  run  out,  and  the 
dwarf  attacked  the  monster.  But  the  Merrimac 
was  ready.  Gun  after  gun  was  returned  by  her 
rapid  broadsides,  now  only  sixty  yards  away. 
The  Merrimac  had  ten  guns  to  the  Monitors  two, 


THE   MERRIMAC  AND   THE   MONITOR     55 

and  the  tower  and  deck  and  pilot-house  of  the 
pigmy  were  struck  again  and  again.  But  though 
the  shots  struck,  they  only  made  indentations ;  the 
armor  was  proof;  and,  more  than  all,  the  turret 
worked  and  turned,  so  that  the  gunners  could 
reply  to  the  fire  they  received.  When  this  was 
certain,  the  crew  felt  reassured;  for  it  was  plain 
that  the  results  of  yesterday  could  not  be  renewed. 
The  Merrimac  had  found  an  antagonist.  The 
Monitor  was  no  longer  an  experiment.  To  the 
spectators  the  shots  of  the  Confederate  vessel 
seemed  to  have  no  more  effect  than  so  many  peb- 
bles thrown  by  a  child. 

The  battle,  when  once  begun,  went  on  without 
intermission.  Finding  she  could  accomplish  no- 
thing with  the  Monitor,  the  Merrimac  turned 
upon  the  wooden  ships,  and  put  an  enormous  shot 
into  the  Minnesota,  tearing  four  rooms  into  one, 
and  setting  the  ship  on  fire.  The  fire  was  quickly 
extinguished,  and  the  Minnesota  replied  with  a 
broadside  that  would  have  blown  out  of  water 
any  wooden  ship  in  the  world;  but  the  Merrimac 
was  unharmed.  It  seemed  like  magic,  and  in 
other  days  would  doubtless  have  been  considered 
the  effect  of  wicked  enchantment.  Fifty  solid 
shot  struck  on  the  slanting  sides  without  any  ap- 


56 


CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 


parent  result.  The  Merrimac  fired  three  times,  in 
return,  at  the  Minnesota,  and  would  soon  have 
destroyed  her,  but  the  little  Monitor  came  dancing 
down  to  the  rescue,  placing  herself  directly  be- 


*V- 


ON    BOARD    THE    "  MERRIMAC  " A    SHOT    AT    THE    "  TIN      CAN    ON    A    SHINGLE 


tween  the  two  huge  crafts,   and  compelled  the 
Merrimac  to  change  her  position. 

While  the  ships  were  alongside,  the  commander 
of  the  Merrimac  called  for  men  to  board  the 
Monitor  and  overwhelm  her  by  numbers,  but  the 
little  thing  was  beyond  reach  before  his  command 
could  be  obeyed. 


THE   MERRIMAC  AND   THE   MONITOR     57 

About  noon  the  crisis  of  the  battle  occurred. 
The  Confederates  determined  to  direct  their  at- 
tack on  the  pilot-house  of  their  enemy,  and  when 
the  little  craft  was  only  ten  yards  away  they  sent 
one  shell  full  against  the  sight-hole  of  the  Moni- 
tor. In  exploding,  it  tore  off  the  top  of  the  pilot- 
house, and  wounded  the  gallant  commander. 
Worden  was  blinded  with  the  powder,  and  for  a 
moment  stunned.  He  supposed  that  all  was  lost, 
for  the  sudden  glare  of  light  that  poured  in  on  his 
injured  eyes  from  the  opening  made  him  think  the 
pilot-house  absolutely  destroyed.  He  gave  orders 
to  move  off,  and  sent  for  Greene.  The  young 
officer  found  his  chief  bleeding,  blind,  and  dis- 
abled, and  the  vessel  apparently  at  the  mercy  of 
the  enemy.  He  led  the  wounded  man  to  his  cabin, 
and  then  the  boy  assumed  command. 

The  heroic  Worden  believed  himself  mortally 
hurt,  but  he  asked,  in  his  agony:  "  Is  the  Minne- 
sota safe?  "  When  assured  of  this,  he  exclaimed: 
"  Then  I  can  die  happy."  1 

1  The  description  of  Worden's  catastrophe  is  necessarily  taken 
from  Lieutenant  Greene's  graphic  and  eloquent  paper  in  the 
"Century  Magazine"  for  March,  1885,  — the  only  possible  au- 
thority. It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  an  account  of  a  battle  written 
by  one  who  was  not  a  participant  or  an  eye-witness  must,  to  be 
correct,  be  a  compilation  from  the  reports  of  those  who  were  ac- 
tually present.  As  for  Greene,  he  wrote  almost  as  well  as  he 
fought. 


58  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

When  Greene  returned  to  the  pilot-house  he 
found  the  steering  apparatus  perfect,  but  the 
Monitor  had  been  drifting  about  without  guid- 
ance. Twenty  minutes  elapsed  from  the  time  of 
the  shock  before  it  was  determined  what  course 
to  pursue,  and  meanwhile  the  Merrimac  had  with- 
drawn. She  was  leaking  badly,  her  engines 
would  hardly  work,  and  though  doubtless  she 
might  have  continued  the  fight,  it  was  evident 
that  she  could  accomplish  nothing  against  her 
dwarf  antagonist,  that  was  able,  preposterous  as 
it  seems,  to  defend  the  entire  Northern  fleet. 
Neither  adversary  had  been  able  to  destroy  the 
other.  The  Monitor  was  now  near  shallow  water 
where  the  Merrimac  could  not  follow,  and  at  two 
o'clock  the  great  battery  returned  to  Sewell's 
Point,  completely  foiled  in  her  object  by  Erics- 
son's little  machine.  The  Monitor  fired  a  few 
shots  but  did  not  follow. 

It  required  a  month  to  repair  the  damages  the 
Merrimac  had  received,  and  on  the  nth  of  April, 
followed  by  six  gun-boats,  she  came  into  the  Roads 
again.  The  Monitor  was  in  sight  with  the  Union 
fleet,  but  her  orders  were  positive  not  to  briijg  on 
an  engagement  in  the  shallows,  where  the  wooden 
vessels  would  be  unable  to  manceuver,  and  the 


THE   MERRIMAC  AND   THE   MONITOR    59 

Merrimac  returned  without  a  battle.  This  pro- 
ceeding was  repeated  a  few  days  later ;  the  Merri- 
mac steamed  out  and  then  returned.  Neither 
side  had  another  iron-clad,  and  neither  wished  to 
risk  the  destruction  of  the  craft  that  protected  so 
vast  a  stake.  Thus  the  Monitor  stayed  the  course 
of  the  Merrimac  and  prevented  all  the  great  re- 
sults that  were  hoped  by  one  side  and  feared  by 
the  other.  For  a  while  the  issue  of  the  war 
seemed  to  depend  on  the  little  champion,  and  she 
stood  her  ground.  It  was  like  the  nursery  stories 
in  which  the  dwarf  beat  off  the  giant  and  saved 
the  land. 


ELEANOR'S  COLONEL 

BY  ANNAH    ROBINSON    WATSON 

ELEANOR  FAIRFAX  lived  in  the  Shenan- 
doah Valley,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  parts 
of  Virginia. 

Her  home  was  the  prettiest  rose-covered  cot- 
tage in  a  small  village,  and  here  her  young  mother 
lived,  with  only  Mammy  'Liza,  the  old  colored 
nurse,  to  help  her  take  care  of  the  household. 

Eleanor's  father  had  gone  off  to  the  war  with 
the  Southern  soldiers,  and  Mammy  'Liza's  hus- 
band, Uncle  Reuben,  had  gone,  too,  "  to  take  care 
of  young  marstuh,"  he  said. 

As  yet,  no  Northern  soldiers  had  been  seen  in 
the  town,  and  Eleanor  and  her  little  friends  often 
paused  in  their  games  to  wonder  what  these  sol- 
diers were  like,  and  whether  they  would  ever 
really  come. 

Eleanor  was  the  eldest  of  three  children,  and 
often  her  mother  would  take  her  in  her  arms  and 
talk  long  and  seriously. 

60 


ELEANOR'S    COLONEL  61 

"  You  must  help  mother,"  she  would  say  ten- 
derly, "  father  has  gone,  and  mother  has  no  one 
but  Eleanor  to  help  her." 

"  Father  is  a  Secesh,1  is  n't  he? "  said  Eleanor, 
slowly,  one  day,  when  they  were  talking. 

"  Yes,  father  is  a  Secesh,"  answered  the  mo- 
ther, smiling. 

"  And  you  are  a  Secesh  ?  "  continued  the  little 
questioner. 

"  Yes,  of  course;  I  am  whatever  father  is." 

"Then  I  am  a  Secesh,  too— a  great  big  Se- 
cesh," exclaimed  the  little  girl,  sturdily.  "  I  'd 
like  to  be  a  soldier,  too,  like  father." 

"Well,  a  soldier  must  be  loyal  to  his  colors. 
That  means  he  must  be  true  and  always  keep  his 
word.  Even  if  the  enemy  should  come  and  want 
to  shoot  him  for  it,  that  should  make  no  difference 
to  a  really  brave  man,  and  he  must  always  tell  the 
truth,  no  matter  what  it  costs." 

Eleanor  looked  very  solemn  as  her  mother  said 
this,  and  exclaimed :  "  I  'm  not  a  coward,  mother. 
If  the  Yankees  came,  I  would  n't  be  afraid  one 
bit.  I  'd  tell  them  right  out  I  was  a  Secesh,  and 
I  ?d  try  to  get  them  to  let  you  and  little  sister  and 
Edward  go  free,  and  just  take  me." 

1  Then  a  popular  abbreviation  for  "  secessionist." 


62  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

Tears  came  to  the  mother's  eyes,  though  she 
laughed  as  she  caught  the  small  soldier  to  her 
breast.  "  Oh,  there  's  no  danger  of  that,  darling," 
she  said.  "  If  the  Yankees  came  they  would  n't 
want  such  a  little  rebel  as  you." 

It  was  only  the  next  week  that  the  Yankees 
came,  sure  enough,  and  pitched  their  tents  in  the 
beautiful  Shenandoah  Valley,  just  on  the  edge  of 
the  little  town.    ■ 

This  caused  great  excitement,  'for  no  one  knew 
why  the  soldiers  had  come,  whether  there  was  to 
be  a  battle,  or  what  was  to  happen.  Even  the 
children  shared  in  the  general  feeling  of  anxiety 
and  unrest.  They  had  been  in  the  habit  of  visit- 
ing each  other  freely,  and  of  playing  upon  the 
beautiful  green  spaces  between  the  houses;  but 
now  they  were  kept  closely  within  doors,  lest,  as 
they  thought  to  themselves,  they  should  be  cap- 
tured by  the  Yankees  and  carried  off  to  prison. 

But  several  days  passed  by,  nothing  terrible 
happened,  the  soldiers  had  done  no  harm  to  any 
one,  and  the  citizens  began  to  feel  more  comfort- 
able, and  the  children  to  return  to  their  usual 
occupations  and  pleasures.  Day  by  day,  in  their 
games  upon  the  meadow,  they  came  nearer  and 
nearer    to    the    Federal    camp.     They    watched 


ELEANOR'S    COLONEL  63 

eagerly  all  the  movements  of  the  soldiers,  and 
one  day  a  half-dozen  of  the  most  daring  among 
them  decided  to  go  nearer  still,  "just  to  see 
what  the  'bluecoats'  look  like,"  they  said  to  one 
another. 

The  youngest  of  the  group  was  Eleanor.  She 
looked  very  serious,  as  if  her  little  heart  was  bur- 
dened with  matters  of  great  importance.  She 
may  have  been  thinking  that  the  time  of  trial  had 
come — that  if  she  saw  the  terrible  Yankees  she 
might  tell  them  her  father  had  gone  to  fight  them, 
and  that  if  they  wanted  anybody,  they  must  take 
her,  and  let  nothing  hurt  her  dear  mother,  baby 
sister,  and  little  Edward. 

Anyway,  she  was  one  of  the  band  of  children, 
and  they  approached  with  quick-beating  hearts 
the  Federal  camp,  which  was  only  a  few  hundred 
yards  distant. 

As  they  neared  the  place  they  saw  a  group  of 
soldiers  out  in  front  of  the  tents,  and  one  of  the 
number,  the  colonel,  called  out  cheerily:  "  Come 
on,  little  people;  I  mi  glad  to  see  you." 

At  this  the  children  looked  much  startled.  Two 
of  the  number  took  fright  and  beat  a  most  in- 
glorious retreat.  Only  four  obeyed  his  summons. 
These  came  somewhat  reluctantly,  and  stood  be- 


64  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

fore  him,  silent,  and  with  anxious  eyes  lifted  to 
his  face. 

The  colonel  began  to  talk  to  them,  and  at  last 
said  he  wanted  to  know  whether  they  were  rebels 
or  Yankees — whether  they  were  on  his  side  or 
were  for  Jeff  Davis. 

The  children  were  speechless,  and  turned  to 
one  another  with  wondering  faces.  But  he  con- 
tinued: "Now,  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  '11  do:  I  '11 
make  a  very  nice  present  to  the  little  girl  who 
gives  me  the  best  answer  to  that  question." 

With  a  common  impulse,  the  children  drew 
back  and  began  with  great  excitement  to  talk  to 
one  another. 

"  What 's  he  going  to  do  with  us  ?  "  asked  one. 

"  Maybe  shoot  us,"  answered  a  little  girl,  shiv- 
ering, "  unless  we  say  we  're  for  the  Yankees." 

"  But  that  would  be  a  story ! "  exclaimed 
Eleanor,  hotly.  "  We  're  not  for  the  Yankees, 
and  you  know  it ! " 

"  I  'd  rather  be  for  the  Yankees  than  be  shot," 
said  little  Eunice  Clarke,  looking  frightened. 

At  this  moment  the  colonel  called  them: 
"Come  on;  I  'm  ready  for  your  answers." 

A  group  of  soldiers  had  gathered  about  him, 


ELEANOR'S    COLONEL  65 

attracted  by  the  unusual  scene,  and  the  children 
looked  fearfully  at  the  "bluecoats." 

Eunice  happened  to  be  in  front  of  the  group. 
"  Well,  my  little  girl,"  asked  the  colonel,  "  what 
are  your  sentiments  ?    Whom  are  you  for  ?  " 

"  I — I  'm  for  the  Yankees,  sir !  "  she  said  in  an 
almost  inaudible  tone. 

The  colonel  smiled  and  asked  the  next  in  line. 

"  If  you  won't  shoot  me,  I  '11  be  a  Yankee  for— 
for  a  little  while,"  she  answered,  twisting  the 
corner  of  her  apron. 

"And'  you?"  was  asked  of  the  next;  but  the 
child  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  said 
nothing. 

Only  Eleanor  was  left.  She  took  a  step  toward 
the  colonel.  Her  sunbonnet  had  fallen  back,  and 
her  tangled  brown  curls  were  blown  by  the  sum- 
mer breeze. 

"  And  you,  my  little  lady,  whom  are  you  for  ? 
The  Yankees  ?  "  he  asked. 

Eleanor  lifted  her  brown  eyes  with  a  flash  to 
his  face,  while  her  cheeks  glowed,  and  her  lips, 
though  they  quivered  a  moment,  parted,  as  she 
cried,  stamping  her  little  foot : 

"  No,  no !    I  'm  a  Secesh.     I  '11  live  a  Secesh, 


66  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

and  I  '11  die  a  Secesh.  That 's  what  I  am.  Now, 
if  you  want  to,  take  me  and  shoot  me ! " 

The  men  gave  a  loud  cheer.  "  Hurrah  for 
the  little  Secesh!  Hurrah  for  the  brave  little 
Secesh !  "  they  cried. 

"  Hurrah  for  the  little  heroine !  "  exclaimed  the 
colonel.  "That  's  what  she  is— a  little  trump  of 
a  girl  who  's  not  afraid  to  tell  the  truth.  She  's  a 
dear,  loyal  little  rebel !  " 

Then  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  lifted  her  to 
his  shoulder,  and,  followed  by  the  other  children, 
carried  her  into  the  town  to  a  shop,  where,  sure 
enough,  he  selected  for  her  a  beautiful  gift. 

"Just  look!"  said  Eunice  Clarke,  with  wide- 
open  eyes.  "  That  's  what  she  got  for  telling 
the  truth.  Just  look!  I  don't  believe  I  '11  be 
afraid  next  time." 

After  this  the  colonel  took  Eleanor  to  her  own 
gate,  and  left  her,  saying  tenderly,  as  he  held  her 
hand  at  parting:  "I  hope,  my  dear  little  rebel, 
you  will  always  be  as  true  as  you  have  been  to- 
day."   Then  he  kissed  her  and  went  back  to  camp. 

This  one  colonel  had  in  a  sense  captured  the  en- 
tire town,  and  for  years  the  children  talked  about 
him,  until  he  became  their  favorite  hero.  They 
called  him  always  "  Eleanor's  Colonel." 


LIEUTENANT  HARRY 

(An  Episode  of  the  War  of  the  Rebellion) 

BY  THOMAS  EDWIN  TURNER 

AT  the  close  of  a  cold,  dreary  day  in  the  winter 
l\  of  1861-62,  a  boy,  thirteen  years  old,  wear- 
ing the  uniform  of  a  lieutenant,  and  riding  a  high- 
mettled  dapple-gray  pony,  was  making  his  way 
rapidly  toward  the  Federal  headquarters  which 
were  then  situated  at  Tipton,  Missouri. 

The  boy  was  followed  by  a  mounted  orderly. 
On  reaching  his  destination,  Harry,  for  so  we 
may  call  him,  dismounted,  threw  his  bridle-rein  to 
the  orderly,  and  rushed  into  the  house,  almost 
overturning  a  guard  placed  at  its  main  door. 
Making  a  dash  at  a  smaller  door  to  the  right  of  a 
spacious  hall,  he  flung  it  open,  and,  with  snap- 
ping eyes,  glowing  cheeks,  breathless  from  rapid 
movement,  was  in  the  presence  of  the  commander 
of  the  First  Division  of  the  West,  and  exclaimed : 

"  Let  me  go,  father ;  please  do !  " 
67 


68  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

"Let  you  go  where?"  the  boy's  father  asked. 

"I  don't  know  where,"  the  son  answered; 
"  but  I  heard  out  at  camp  you  were  going  to  send 
Major  Gray  and  his  company  of  cavalry  some- 
where to-night,  and  /  want  to  go  with  them.  I 
am  not  a  baby.  All  the  men  in  our  command  say 
I  can  ride  any  horse,  in  or  out  of  it ;  and  I  stood 
the  march  toward  Springfield  when  a  lot  of 
officers  and  men  gave  out.  It  was  all  day  and  all 
night  work  for  sixty  hours,  with  hardly  one  hour's 
rest  in  six." 

And  here  the  lad,  who  had  been  talking  very 
fast,  and  with  great  earnestness,  appealed  to  his 
sire,  who  smilingly  replied : 

"  Soldiers  should  not  boast,  my  boy.  I  have 
concluded  to  send  you  with  Major  Gray  to-night. 
More  than  that,  I  shall  place  you  in  command." 

"  Hooray  for— thank  you,  sir!"  he  cried;  "but 
where  are  we  to  go? " 

"  That  I  will  tell  you  in  two  hours,  when  you 
report  with  your  command  for  orders.  Major 
Gray  and  his  company  are  to  be  here  at  eight 
o'clock.  So  go  back  to  camp,  and  prepare  for 
your  journey.  Use  a  fresh  mount.  You  had 
better  ride  my  brown  mare." 


LIEUTENANT  HARRY  69 

"  Yes,  father  " ;  and  the  boy  hastened  away  to 
make  preparations  for  the  great  undertaking. 

While  he  is  so  engaged,  as  you  may  be  curious 
to  know,  I  will  tell  you  how  this  mere  child  came 
to  be  in  the  army  instead  of  in  school  with  other 
patriots  of  his  own  age. 

After  the  father  became  colonel  of  his  regi- 
ment, his  physician,  who  was  chosen  surgeon  of 
the  same  regiment,  expressed  the  opinion  that  it 
might  benefit  the  poor  health  of  the  colonel's  son 
if  the  latter  was  permitted  to  accompany  his  fa- 
ther to  the  South.  It  was  decided  to  follow  the 
good  doctor's  advice,  and  the  result  was  all  that 
could  be  desired;  for  Harry,  now  the  picture  of 
health,  served  as  a  member  of  staff,  performing 
the  duties  devolving  upon  a  staff-officer,  although 
not  sworn  into  the  service,  and,  of  course,  not  re- 
ceiving government  pay. 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  this  red- 
letter  day  in  the  life  of  our  hero,  a  company  of 
cavalry  was  drawn  up  in  line  before  the  head- 
quarters in  Tipton.  Its  commander,  Major  Gray, 
was  in  conference  with  his  chief,  within  doors, 
while  the  young  lieutenant,  wrapped  in  the  regu- 
lation army-overcoat,  and  mounted  on  a  large 


jo  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

brown  horse  of  great  speed,  occupied  a  position  at 
the  head  of  the  line  of  cavalry. 

The  major,  accompanied  by  General  T , 

soon  came  from  the  house.  Approaching  the  boy, 
the  general  said  : 

"  With  Major  Gray's  consent,  I  put  you  in  com- 
mand of  this  expedition.  You  are  to  go  to  Ver- 
sailles, reaching  there  as  near  the  break  of  day  as 
possible.  Post  men  on  all  roads  entering  the 
town,  to  prevent  escape  of  the  enemy  out  of  it, 
and  to  warn  you  of  his  approach.  Search  each 
house  in  Versailles,  and  bring  in  any  men  bear- 
ing arms  against  us,  or  concealing  themselves. 
Whatever  you  do,  keep  near  Major  Gray,  and 
when  in  doubt  be  guided  by  him." 

Here  the  speaker  and  the  major  exchanged 
significant  glances.  Then  the  general  turned 
away,  saying: 

"  I  wish  you  a  speedy  and  successful  journey. 
Good  night,  sir."  And  answering  the  salute  re- 
ceived as  he  ended  his  instructions,  he  was  soon 
within  the  house  again. 

For  some  reason  or  other,  now  that  the  boy 
was  fairly  in  for  it,  his  courage  and  confidence 
began  to  desert  him.  An  hour  before  it  seemed 
easy  enough,  a  simple  thing,  to  manceuver  a  whole 


LIEUTENANT   HARRY  71 

division.  Now  he  did  n't  know  what  to  do  with 
a  single  company.  He  knew  he  ought  to  be  off, 
but  how  to  move  that  company  of  men  floored 
him.  Something  must  be  done.  So  he  shouted 
in  desperation :  "  Left  wheel !  by  twos !  For- 
ward, march ! "  uncertain  whether  those  were  the 
proper  orders  to  bring  about  the  movement  he 
desired.  Right  or  wrong,  the  words  started  his 
little  command  in  the  right  direction,  and  this 
success  set  self-confidence  on  its  legs  again. 

As  he  was  the  only  one  of  the  entire  party  who 
had  ever  been  over  the  road  from  Tipton  to  Ver- 
sailles, Major  Gray  informed  him  this  was  the 
reason  for  his  being  sent  in  command  of  the  little 
force  that  was  to  find  it.  He  had  only  once  been 
in  Versailles,  and  the  journey  there  was  made 
during  daylight,  with  a  large  detachment  of 
his  father's  division.  And  having  paid  no  par- 
ticular attention  to  the  route,  the  truth  was  he 
knew  little  about  it.  And  now  the  snow  began 
to  fall  quietly,  steadily,  as  if  it  meant  to  con- 
tinue a  long  time,  soon  covering  the  earth  with  a 
fleecy  robe  that  reflected  just  light  enough  to  re- 
veal how  deep  the  gloom  had  been  without  it. 

A  little  after  eleven  o'clock,  however,  chancing 
to  glance  far  ahead,  Harry  saw  something  that 


72  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

made  him  regret  he  was  acting  in  the  capacity  of 
leader.  What  his  eyes  fell  upon  that  caused 
this  disturbance  of  mind  were  simply :  "  Forks 
ahead ! "  where  the  road  they  were  on  branched 
off  into  three  prongs,  going  in  as  many  different 
directions.  What  should  he  do?  For,  to  confess 
the  truth,  he  did  not  know  which  of  the  three 
branches  was  the  proper  one  to  take  in  order  to 
reach  Versailles.  Riding  close  at  Major  Gray's 
side,  rising  in  his  stirrups,  and  leaning  as  far 
toward  his  companion  as  the  position  permitted, 
the  lad  in  a  low  tone  said : 

"  Major  Gray,  I  don't  know  which  of  those 
three  roads  we  ought  to  take ;  but  have  mercy  on 
me,  and  don't  tell  your  lieutenants  or  the  men !  " 

"You  don't  know  the  road?"  the  major  an- 
swered. "Try  to  remember  the  way  you  went 
going  down  here  before." 

"  I  can't ;  for  I  fail  even  to  remember  ever  see- 
ing the  forks  before,"  said  the  boy. 

By  this  time  the  forks  were  reached,  and  in  a 
moment  the  little  band  was  at  a  standstill,  and 
the  kind-hearted  major  said  in  a  low,  clear  voice 
that  reached  every  ear  in  the  troop : 

"  We  know  one  of  these  roads  will  take  us  to 
Versailles,  but  another  may  be  more  direct,  so  we 


LIEUTENANT  HARRY  75 

will  try  to  get  information  or  a  guide  from  the 
cabins  yonder.  Wait  here  until  Lieutenant  Thorn 
and  I  return/' 

Now  "  Lieutenant  Thorn/'  as  our  hero  was 
called,  had  seen  no  sign  of  any  habitation,  but 
the  major's  keen  eyes  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
three  or  four  rude  log  huts  a  little  distance 
down  the  road  that  led  off  to  the  left.  Approach- 
ing one  of  the  cabins,  Major  Gray,  with  the  butt 
of  a  navy  revolver,  rapped  vigorously  upon 
its  door  of  split  logs.  A  voice  inside  the  cabin 
cried : 

"Who'sthar?" 

"  Officers  of  the  army,"  shouted  the  major. 

"  Which  side  be  you  uns  on?  " 

"  On  the  outside !  "  returned  the  matter-of-fact 
major. 

"  That 's  enough.  Ye  're  Yanks,"  said  the  first 
speaker.     "  Now  what  do  you  uns  want?  " 

"A  guide  to  Versailles;  we  want  one  quick," 
was  the  answer. 

"  If  you  uns  want  to  get  to  Versailles,  take  that 
right-hand  track." 

"No,  you  don't,"  shouted  the  major;  "you 
must  come  with  us.  So  stop  talking,  and  come 
out  of  there  in  short  order." 


76  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

And  in  a  few  moments  a  door  in  the  rear  was 
opened,  and  a  voice  cried : 

"  Come  on;  I  will  go  with  you  uns." 

They  came  upon  a  boy  seemingly  about  sixteen 
years  of  age,  who,  as  they  reached  him,  closed  the 
door  in  which  he  had  been  standing  awaiting  the 
coming  of  the  two  officers.  The  latter  saw  that 
tracks  had  been  made  through  the  snow  from 
the  dwelling-house  to  the  buildings  back  of  it. 
So  the  major's  first  words  to  the  boy  were : 

"Who  left  this  cabin  while  I  was  talking  to 
your  father  ?  " 

"  No  one,  stranger,"  was  the  boy's  answer. 

"How  came  those  tracks  in  the  snow,  then?" 
he  was  sternly  asked. 

"  Oh !  when  you  uns  first  came  up,  dad  was 
certain  you  uns  was  after  the  stock,  and  he  sent 
me  out,  quietly  like,  to  slip  their  halters  and  let 
'em  take  for  the  bush." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  accept  the  ex- 
planation, hoping,  yet  doubting,  it  was  true. 

In  a  short  time  the  guide  caught,  saddled,  and 
bridled  a  long-haired,  hungry-looking  brute,  and 
mounting  it,  he  followed  the  major  and  his  young 
companion  to  the  spot  where  the  company  of 
cavalry  awaited  them. 


LIEUTENANT   HARRY  77 

The  major  hurriedly  explained  to  his  officers, 
and  turning  to  the  guide,  said:  "  See  here,  young 
man;  I  want  you  to  take  us  to  Versailles  by  the 
most  direct  road  you  know.  If  you  do  so  you  will 
be  paid  for  your  time  and  trouble ;  but  if  you  play 
us  false  I  will  have  you  shot.  Now,  if  you  under- 
stand me,  lead  on." 

The  person  so  addressed  turned  his  horse's 
head  down  the  road  leading  to  the  right,  Major 
Gray  and  the  young  lieutenant  riding  one  on  each 
side  of  him.  With  the  two  other  officers  directly 
behind  them,  closely  followed  by  their  men,  the 
march  was  resumed. 

It  was  now  midnight,  and  the  little  band  rode 
silently  onward,  scarce  a  word  being  spoken. 
The  young  guide  appeared  to  act  in  good  faith, 
and  led  the  way  without  hesitation. 

All  things  must  end,  sooner  or  later,  even  Mis- 
souri roads  and  hours  of  snow  and  rain.  As  the 
welcome  break  of  storm  and  day  came  to  warm 
and  cheer  the  cold  and  weary  horsemen,  Ver- 
sailles appeared  in  the  distance.  As  soon  as 
Harry  saw  the  village,  he  tightened  his  bridle- 
rein,  struck  his  spurs  into  his  horse,  and  with  as 
ferocious  a  yell  as  he  could  command,  dashed  far 
ahead  of  his   comrades   and  into  the   Southern 


7%  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

town.  He  dropped  one  of  his  reins,  and  lost  his 
cap,  but  that  was  picked  up  by  one  of  the  men  and 
restored.  As  he  shot  past  one  of  its  suburban 
dwellings,  a  window  was  thrown  up  with  a  crash, 
and  a  man  hurriedly  thrust  out  a  rifle,  and  dis- 
charged it.  The  boy  heard  something  flying  be- 
hind and  beyond  him,  singing  sip!  and  at  the  same 
moment  Major  Gray  roared,  "Don't  shoot!  It  is 
only  a  boy ! "  And  then  turning  short  around  a 
corner,  our  young  lieutenant  was  soon  in  the  pub- 
lic square  of  Versailles,  surrounded  by  his  com- 
panions. 

In  the  center  of  this  area  was,  of  course,  the 
court-house,  the  pride  of  law-abiding  citizens. 
This  building  was  surrounded  by  a  low  railing 
that  bore  the  initials  of  many  a  whittler.  To  this 
railing  three  horses  were  hitched,  saddled  and 
bridled.  Standing  in  front  of  a  store  were  a 
dozen  men  and  boys. 

At  Major  Gray's  suggestion,  the  young  lieu- 
tenant ordered  the  men  to  form  a  line  facing  their 
captors,  and  surrender  their  arms  to  him.  The 
first  command  being  speedily  obeyed,  our  hero 
rode  up  to  each  prisoner  and  obtained  his  wea- 
pons, and  a  strange  collection  was  made. 

Among  the  captives  were  three  who  were  evi- 


'-        - 


V 


LIEUTENANT  HARRY  81 

dently  soldiers  of  the  Southern  army.  On  being 
questioned,  these  men  admitted  that  they  be- 
longed to  General  Price's  army,  but  would  di- 
vulge neither  their  rank  nor  names.  One  of 
them  appeared  to  be  an  educated  man  and  a 
gentleman.  His  demeanor  was  cool,  haughty, 
and  fearless.  He  seemed  ashamed  of  the 
cringing,  frightened  condition  of  most  of  his 
companions. 

Major  Gray  then  detailed  parties  of  three  to 
search  for  men  and  arms  in  the  houses  of  the 
town.  Harry  claimed,  and  his  claim  was  granted, 
the  right  to  lead  one  of  these  parties. 

As  he  was  setting  out  to  perform  his  self-im- 
posed duty,  Major  Gray  said  to  him: 

"  During  your  absence  I  shall  be  at  the  hotel, 
where  I  intend  to  have  our  party  take  breakfast. 
I  shall  ask  the  three  Southern  soldiers  to  be  our 
guests,  as  I  am  confident  one  of  them  at  least  is  an 
officer  of  no  mean  grade.  So  join  me  there  when 
you  have  made  your  search." 

Feeling  that  already  he  had  displayed  general- 
ship to  be  favorably  compared  with  Napoleon's 
crossing  the  Alps,  the  young  lieutenant,  with  his 
two  men,  a  sergeant  and  a  corporal,  prepared  to 
carry  by  storm  or  strategy  the  only  castle  known 


82  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

in  America— the  dwelling-house  of  one  of  her 
citizens. 

I  have  not  time  to  tell  you  of  the  exploration 
the  lieutenant  and  his  men  made  in  that  house. 
It  is  a  story  by  itself.  But  explore  it  they  did, 
most  thoroughly. 

Soon  after  the  little  search-party  left  the  house 
and  went  back  to  the  hotel,  where  the  leader  asked 
Major  Gray  to  appoint  another  to  fill  his  place, 
saying:  "I  guess  I  can  serve  my  country  better 
here,  Major,  than  poking  over  other  people's 
houses." 

The  major  laughingly  agreed  with  this  sage 
decision,  and  at  the  same  time  complied  with  the 
boy's  request. 

When  the  search-parties  had  finished  their 
duties  and  returned  to  the  hotel,  reporting  that  no 
concealed  men  or  arms  had  been  found,  prepara- 
tions for  the  return  to  Tipton  were  made.  It  was 
decided  to  retain  as  prisoners  only  the  three  men 
known  to  be  Confederate  soldiers. 

The  prisoners  occupied  a  position  in  the  center 
of  the  company.  There  was  something  about 
the  most  distinguished-looking  of  the  three  that 
greatly  attracted  our  hero,  and  from  time  to  time 
he  would  ride  for  a  moment  or  two  at  the  former's 


LIEUTENANT  HARRY  83 

side.  The  boy,  too,  seemed  to  interest  and  amuse 
the  captive,  who  at  length,  calling  to  Major  Gray, 
asked  if  there  was  any  objection  to  the  boy's  re- 
maining at  his  side  during  the  journey.  Being 
answered  in  the  negative,  the  two  became  travel- 
ing companions. 

It  did  not  take  long  for  the  Southerner  to  draw 
from  our  hero  his  whole  story.  But  while  seem- 
ingly doing  his  share  of  the  talking,  he  gave  his 
young  companion  very  little  information  about 
himself. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  away,  and  the  shadows 
grew  longer  and  longer,  the  cold  began  to  make 
itself  felt.  The  young  lieutenant's  new  friend 
drew  about  him  a  short  gray  cloak  that  at  the 
time  of  his  capture  in  the  morning  was  hanging 
on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  where  he  had  thrown 
it  while  he  left  his  horse  fastened  to  the  railing  in 
front  of  the  court-house.  Something  heavy  in 
this  cloak,  as  he  threw  it  about  him,  struck  his 
horse's  shoulder  with  a  dull  sound.  The  boy 
quickly  looked  up  into  his  companion's  face.  For 
a  moment  the  unknown  prisoner  seemed  buried  in 
deep  thought.     Then,  turning  to  the  lad,  he  said : 

"  Lieutenant,  did  you  secure  all  of  our  weapons 
this  morning?  " 


84  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

"All  you  had  about  you  then/'  was  the  an- 
swer. 

The  prisoner  smiled,  and  continued:  "I  want 
to  give  you  something  to  keep  for  me  until  the 
fortunes  of  war  bring  it  back  to  my  hand.  You 
must  not  lose  it,  must  not  give  it  away,  and  you 
must  keep  it  about  your  own  person  while  in  the 
army.     Will  you  do  this  ?  " 

The  boy  promised. 

Whereupon  the  prisoner  drew  from  a  deep 
pocket  in  the  lining  of  his  gray  cloak  the  most 
beautifully  chased  silver-mounted  revolver  one 
can  imagine.  Handing  it  to  the  young  lieuten- 
ant, its  owner  said : 

"  Be  sure  I  shall  some  day  take  it  back  again." 

The  boy,  delighted  beyond  expression  at  his 
gift,  made  no  reply  beyond  a  simple  "  Thank 
you  " ;  but  added  mentally,  "  No,  you  won't  take 
it  back.  I  '11  keep  it  to  show  the  boys  at  home— 
the  beauty ! " 

The  tired  little  force  was  now  approaching 
Tipton.  As  the  young  lieutenant's  friend  saw 
houses  in  the  distance,  he  said : 

"  You  will  soon  be  with  your  father  again,  and 
I  for  one  am  glad  of  it.  Some  one  did  leave  the 
cabin  you  stopped  at  last  night.     It  was  the  elder 


LIEUTENANT  HARRY  85 

brother  of  your  guide.  He  went  straight  to  Ver- 
sailles after  escaping  from  the  house,  reaching 
there  an  hour  before  you  did.  He  warned  those 
to  fly  whose  capture  by  you  and  your  men  would 
have  hurt  our  army  more  than  I  dare  tell  you. 
While  you  were  searching  houses,  I  sent  the  guide 
that  brought  you  to  Versailles  to  hurry  up  certain 
men  of  ours,  not  far  off,  to  our  rescue.  I  am  glad 
you  did  not  change  your  road  or  stop  at  the  house 
of  any  of  our  friends  for  refreshment ;  for  if  that 
had  been  done  you  would  be  the  prisoner  now. 
My  boy,  I  am  glad,  for  your  sake  only,  that  we 
have  reached  Tipton  without  bloodshed.  Re- 
member, I  shall  recover  my  revolver  from  you. 
Enjoy  it  while  you  can.  Good-by,  good-by." 
And  shaking  the  lad's  hand  warmly,  with  a  kind, 
sad  smile  softening  the  hard  lines  in  his  face,  he 
turned  away.  Harry  never  spoke  to  him  again. 
Resuming  his  position  at  Major  Gray's  side,  the 
company,  with  jingling  sabers  and  clinking  curb- 
chains,  trotted  up  to  the  headquarters. 

In  a  moment  our  hero,  with  his  arms  full  of 
trophies,  was  in  his  father's  room. 

"  See,  see,"  the  boy  cried,  "  what  I  have  cap- 
tured, and  a  lot  more  outside!  There  are  three 
prisoners  and  three  horses.     One  of  the  men  is 


86  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

a  general,  I  am  sure.  He  gave  me  a  revolver  for 
myself.     And  I  say,  father,  may  I  keep  it  ?  " 

But  by  this  time  Major  Gray  came  to  his  relief, 
and  gave  a  hurried  report  of  their  journey.  The 
general  directed  that  the  prisoners  be  taken  to 
camp  and  placed  under  guard,  promising  to  talk 
with  his  son's  friend  in  the  morning.  He  inti- 
mated that  the  three  men  would  be  at  once  sent 
to  St.  Louis  for  safe  keeping.  Harry  was  invited 
to  spend  the  night  in  his  father's  quarters,  but  de- 
clined, preferring  to  go  to  camp  along  with  his 
company.  So  after  obtaining  permission  to  keep 
the  silver-mounted  revolver,  the  young  lieutenant 
joined  the  company  on  their  way  to  camp.  Ere 
long  the  camp  was  reached,  and  our  young  lieu- 
tenant sought  his  tent,  where  a  supper  of  hot 
coffee,  with  bacon,  beans,  and  hardtack,  was  soon 
placed  before  him  by  his  friend  and  orderly, 
George.  Harry  related  to  the  soldier  his  wonder- 
ful adventures,  and,  I  can  promise  you,  they  lost 
nothing  in  the  telling  He  displayed  with  pride 
the  handsome  revolver,  and  intimated  that  his 
friend  the  donor  would  be  very  wide  awake  if 
he  ever  got  it  back  again. 

Shortly  after  supper  the  young  officer  con- 
cluded to  turn  in,  and  made  his  way  to  the  cot  in 


LIEUTENANT  HARRY  87 

a  corner  of  his  tent,  glad  to  lay  his  tired  body  be- 
tween the  warm  blue  blankets.  Partly  as  a  pre- 
caution, but  mainly  that  he  might  see  it  first  thing 
in  the  morning,  he  placed  the  unknown's  gift 
beneath  his  pillow,  and  quickly  glided  into  dream- 
land. Having  reached  that  mysterious  world,  it 
was  not  surprising  that  he  should  dream.  Dream 
he  did,  and  most  fantastically. 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly  when  the  boy 
awoke.  He  put  his  hand  under  his  pillow  to  draw 
forth  his  revolver,  that  he  might  feast  his  eyes 
upon  it.  It  was  not  there!  Springing  from  his 
bed,  he  hurriedly  dressed,  and  ran  to  the  guards 
charged  with  the  security  of  the  three  prisoners. 
Asking  the  sentinel  on  duty  for  his  new-found 
friend,  he  was  reassured  by  a  nod  of  the  soldier's 
head  toward  the  prisoners'  tent,  a  few  feet  distant. 
Approaching  it,  our  hero  thrust  head  and  shoul- 
ders through  one  of  the  apertures  between  the 
loops  holding  its  flaps  closely  together,  and  saw 
two  prisoners  calmly  sleeping.  The  rider  of  the 
sorrel  horse,  the  owner  of  the  fine  revolver,  the 
friend  of  yesterday,  was  not  there! 

The  young  lieutenant  never  saw  again  the  un- 
known prisoner,  never  saw  again  the  silver- 
mounted  revolver. 


A  STORY  OF  FARRAGUT 

BY    CHARLES    H.    BODDER 

ON  the  night  of  the  14th  of  March,  1863,  Ad- 
miral Farragut  had  planned  to  pass  the  bat- 
teries of  Port  Hudson,  on  the  Mississippi;  to 
clear  the  river  of  all  fortifications  between  Port 
Hudson  and  Vicksburg;  to  blockade  the  Red 
River;  and,  with  a  portion  of  his  fleet,  to  co- 
operate with  Grant  at  Vicksburg. 

The  vessels  which  were  to  pass  these  fortifica- 
tions were  the  sloop-of-war  Hartford,  the  frigate 
Mississippi,  the  sloop-of-war  Richmond,  and  the 
gunboats  Albatross  and  Genesee. 

The  batteries  of  Port  Hudson  were  situated  on 
a  high  bluff,  and  erected  to  operate  against  land 
and  naval  forces.  They  were  five  in  number, 
mounting  from  one  to  three  heavy  siege-guns 
each,  and  were  arranged  in  the  form  of  a  crescent. 

It  was  planned  that  the  shipping  should  make 
the  attack  at  night,  and  pass  the  batteries;  and. 


=; 


accomplished, 


c •    .--  Lilt; 


ar  f  Port  Hudson,  under  the  command  of  Gen- 
al  Banks,  was  to  make  an  assault  upon  the  Con- 
lerate  works  in  the  rear. 

The  senior  commanding  officer,  next  to  Far- 
gut,  was  Captain  James  Alden,  of  the  United 
a  e  s  sloop-of -war  i?«r/i  mond. 


The  United  States  sloop-of-war  Hartford  was 
the  flag-ship  ;:  the  fleet;  but  when  the  Admiral 
w  a  s  o  a  any  other  vessel  b  i  s  0  a  g  w  a  s  h ; :  s  t  ed  on 
that  vessel  during  his  stay  on  board,  and  she 
would  be  consider r  a  as  the  flag-ship. 

The  naval  attack  ::t  that  night  proved  in  a 
measure  disastrous  to  us. 

The  rzj/r:1  yz  lei  the  van  with  the  Albatross 
ice  :  next  came  the  Mississippi,  fol- 
Richmond,  with  the  Genesee  lashed 


lashed  t:  h 

lowed  by 1 

to  her  side, 

The  bat 

sice.  ascer. 
lashed  to 


rigaht-hana 

"::  :  ats  were 


ig  the  river,  end  the  gunboa 

e  oort   (or  left-hand      sites    ::  the 
sloops-of-war  as  they  went  up  the  river. 

0:t  the  Richmond  was   a  boy  who,  from  his 
keenness   ::  sight,   agility,  and  mischievousness, 

had  earned  for  hint  self  the  tide   :•:   "'  Vntkey." 
which   was    shrntened   t:    "V::tk."     He   was    a 


9o  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

general  favorite  among  officers  and  men,  and  his 
position,  as  signal-boy,  brought  him  in  close  con- 
tact with  the  senior  officers,  as  the  station  to 
which  he  was  assigned  in  action  was  abaft,  on  the 
poop  deck. 

The  night  of  the  attack  was  a  dark  night,  and 
the  current  was  running  at  the  rate  of  about  eight 
miles  an  hour;  against  this  current  the  vessels 
had  to  make  their  way.  .The  batteries  extended 
for  a  distance  of  four  miles. 

The  Hartford  succeeded  in  passing  and  get- 
ting above  the  fortifications,  with  the  gunboat 
Albatross.  The  Richmond  had  passed  all  except 
the  upper  battery;  but  as  she  was  turning  the 
point  above,  a  plunging  shot  from  one  of  the  lower 
batteries  struck  her,  cutting  one  of  her  steam 
pipes,  which  rendered  her  helpless.  The  Genesee, 
the  vessel  lashed  alongside  of  her,  also  becoming 
disabled,  they  were  prevented  from  proceeding 
further  up  the  river,  and  both  vessels  had  to  drift 
at  the  mercy  of  the  current,  and  were  exposed  to 
the  deadly  fire  from  all  the  batteries. 

The  Confederates  had,  in  the  beginning  of  the 
assault,  built  large  fires  on  the  bluff,  which  en- 
abled them  to  see  the  shipping  plainly,  but  con- 
fused the  sight  of  the  gunners  on  the  ships. 


A   STORY  OF  FARRAGUT  91 

The  Mississippi  ran  aground  opposite  the  third 
battery  and  became  a  helpless  target  for  the 
enemy.  She  was  set  on  fire  by  the  Confederate 
shells,  which  compelled  her  officers  and  crew  to 
abandon  her.  Toward  daylight  she  floated  off, 
and  drifted  down  the  river  all  ablaze,  with  her 
guns  going  off  from  the  intense  heat,  and  throw- 
ing their  shells  in  every  direction.  She  finally 
blew  up  six  miles  below  Port  Hudson,  and  what 
remained  of  her  wreck  sank  beneath  the  waters  of 
her  namesake. 

The  Richmond  and  Genesee  floated  down  the 
river,  taking  up  the  positions  they  occupied 
previous  to  the  engagement.  They  lowered  their 
boats  and  sent  them  out  to  row  about  and  pick  up 
any  officers  and  men  who  might  luckily  have 
escaped  from  the  ill-fated  Mississippi. 

The  lower  fleet,  under  the  command  of  Captain 
James  Alden  of  the  Richmond,  in  cooperation 
with  the  army,  kept  Port  Hudson  under  siege 
until  it  was  compelled  to  surrender  on  the  7th  day 
of  July  following. 

During  the  interval  between  the  naval  attack 
and  the  surrender  of  Port  Hudson,  Admiral  Far- 
ragut  had  succeeded  in  blockading  the  Red  River, 
and  destroying  all  fortifications  of  any  note  be- 


92  CIVIL  WAR   STORIES 

tween  Port  Hudson  and  Vicksburg.  Leaving 
the  Hartford  and  the  Albatross  to  hold  the  posi- 
tion they  had  gained,  he  himself  returned,  by 
land,  to  the  lower  fleet  at  Port  Hudson,  which 
consisted  of  the  Richmond,  the  gunboats  Monon- 
gahela,  Keneo,  and  Genesee,  and  four  mortar- 
schooners. 

During  the  time  of  the  siege  the  Admiral  chose 
the  Richmond  for  his  flag-ship. 

One  afternoon  during  the  month  of  June,  the 
Admiral  came  up  from  dinner  from  the  captain's 
cabin,  and  ascended  the  ladder  to  the  poop  deck, 
where  he  found  the  boy  Monk  on  watch. 

One  of  the  duties  of  the  signal-boy  was  to  be 
on  the  lookout  with  a  spy-glass  to  report  anything 
new  that  he  might  observe. 

"Have  you  noticed  anything  new  up  there  ?" 
said  the  Admiral,  addressing  the  boy,  at  the  same 
time  reaching  out  for  the  spy-glass.  Monk 
handed  him  the  glass,  touching  his  cap  in  salu- 
tation. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Monk ;  "  just  above  the 
citadel"  (the  citadel  was  the  first  battery,  con- 
taining two  heavy  siege-guns,  and  commanding 
the  approach  from  the  river)  "  I  noticed  the  edge 
of  a  new  earthwork." 


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ADMIRAL    DAVID    G.    FARRAGUT.       FROM    A    PHOTOGRAPH    BY    SARONY 


A   STORY  OF  FARRAGUT  95 

"When  did  you  first  notice  it?"  asked  the 
Admiral. 

"This  morning,  sir,"  replied  Monk,  "but  as 
I  was  not  certain  that  it  amounted  to  any- 
thing, I  thought  I  would  wait  and  see  if  it 
grew  any  larger  before  I  reported  it.  It  has 
grown  quite  considerably  during  the  last  hour; 
I  was  about  to  report  it  just  as  you  came  up, 
sir." 

"  Take  the  glass,"  said  the  Admiral,  handing  it 
back  to  him,  "  and  look  carefully." 

The  boy  looked  at  the  earthwork,  and  then,  ad- 
dressing the  Admiral,  said,  "  They  are  digging 
there.  I  can  see  when  they  throw  the  dirt,  but  I 
cannot  see  the  men." 

The  Admiral  again  took  the  glass,  and  after  a 
moment's  scrutiny,  lowered  it,  and  looking  kindly 
on  the  boy,  said,  "  You  have  very  keen  sight,  my 
lad;  I  can  see  the  new  earth  myself,  but  cannot 
distinguish  the  operation." 

At  this  moment  Captain  Alden  joined  the  Ad- 
miral. 

"  Alden,"  said  the  Admiral,  "  this  youngster 
has  sharp  eyes." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  captain,  "there  is  not  a 
man  or  boy  on  board  whose  eyesight  is  as  keen 


96  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

and  as  far-reaching  as  his.  I  have  known  him  to 
distinguish  the  different  colors  of  lights  at  sea 
when  all  others  failed  to  do  so." 

"  He  has  discovered  a  new  earthwork  in  prep- 
aration up  there  among  the  batteries/'  said  the 
Admiral. 

"Where?"  asked  the  captain,  with  eagerness, 
and  addressing  himself  to  Monk. 

"  Just  beyond  the  citadel,  sir,"  said  Monk. 

"  Suppose  we  go  up  and  see  what  it  is,"  said  the 
Admiral. 

"  With  pleasure,"  replied  Captain  Alden. 

"  Mr.  Boyd,"  said  the  captain  to  the  officer  of 
the  deck,  "  have  Mr.  Terry  come  on  deck."  Mr. 
Terry  was  the  executive  officer. 

"  Mr.  Terry,"  said  the  captain,  "  beat  to  quar- 
ters, and  stand  by  to  slip  the  cable.  Man  the 
starboard  battery." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir." 

In  a  moment,  the  drum  and  fife  were  heard; 
then  there  was  the  usual  rush  of  the  officers  and 
men  hither  and  thither  to  reach  their  stations, 
and  the  noise  of  casting  loose  the  guns,  placing 
the  handspikes  in  their  positions,  and  the  un- 
shackling of  the  cable.  After  which  came  a  sud- 
den stillness. 


A  STORY  OF  FARRAGUT  97 

Everything  being  in  preparation,  the  executive 
officer  saluted  the  captain,  and  said : 

"  To  quarters,  and  all  ready  for  slipping,  sir." 

"  Slip  cable,  sir,"  ordered  the  captain. 

"  One  bell,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Terry,  addressing  the 
engineer.  One  bell  is  the  signal  for  starting 
the  engine  slowly. 

At  the  starting  of  the  engine,  the  ship  moved 
forward  just  enough  to  hold  her  own  against  the 
current. 

"  Slip  the  cable,"  came  the  order  from  the 
executive  officer  to  the  forward  officer. 

The  cable  was  slipped,  and  the  moment  the 
ship  was  freed  from  her  moorings,  the  executive 
officer  ordered  the  engineer  to  give  her  four  bells, 
which  means,  "  Go  ahead  at  full  speed." 

Captain  Alden  and  the  executive  officer  went 
forward  and  occupied  the  bridge  amidships,  leav- 
ing the  Admiral  and  the  boy  Monk  the  only  occu- 
pants of  the  poop  deck. 

As  the  ship  approached  the  batteries,  she  was 
greeted  with  a  shot  from  one  of  the  upper  bat- 
teries, which  fell  short  of  its  mark;  the  Admiral 
was  standing  on  the  rail  of  the  poop  deck,  and  he 
was  holding  on  to  the  awning-rope  to  steady  him- 
self. 


98  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

Monk  was  standing  by  him  on  the  deck,  look- 
ing through  the  spy-glass  at  the  batteries  we  were 
approaching.  A  puff  of  smoke  came  from  the 
upper  battery,  and  Monk,  lowering  the  glass,  said; 
"Admiral,  here  comes  the  Lady  Davis." 

In  the  upper  battery  was  an  84-pound  rifled 
gun,  which  we  in  the  fleet  had  nicknamed  the 
"  Lady  Davis."  This  gun  had  the  longest  range 
of  all  the  guns  in  the  Confederate  fortifications. 

In  a  few  seconds  the  report  of  the  gun  was 
heard,  followed  by  a  terrific  shrieking  of  the 
shell;  so  certain  did  it  seem  to  Monk,  from  the 
fast  approaching  sound,  that  the  shell  would 
strike  the  ship  near  him,  that  he  dropped  to  the 
deck,  taking  shelter  under  the  rail. 

He  was  not  much  mistaken  in  his  judgment. 
The  shell  struck  the  water  directly  beneath  where 
the  Admiral  and  he  were.  It  sent  up  a  column  of 
water  which  nearly  deluged  both  the  Admiral  and 
Monk.  But  this  did  not  visibly  cause  the  least 
movement  on  the  part  of  the  Admiral,  or  the 
slightest  change  in  his  countenance  excepting  a 
slight  smile. 

There  was  one  thing  that  Admiral  Farragut 
was  never  known  to  do,  and  that  was  to  bow  his 
head  to  a  shot,  no  matter  how  near  it  came  to  him. 


THE    SHELL    SENT    UP    A    COLUMN    OF    WATER    WHICH   NEARLY    DELUGED 
BOTH    THE    ADMIRAL    AND    MONK  " 


A   STORY  OF  FARRAGUT  101 

The  Admiral,  turning,  said  to  Monk : 

"Why  did  you  lie  down?" 

4kI  thought,"  answered  Monk,  "that  the  shot 
was  going  to  strike  us — " 

"Well,  suppose  it  had?"  asked  the  Admiral. 
"Would  n't  it  have  struck  you  just  the  same 
whether  you  were  lying  down  or  standing  up?  " 

"  It  might,  sir,"  said  Monk.  "  But  I  am  a 
little  higher  when  I  am  standing  up,  and  it  would 
have  had  more  chances  to  hit  me." 

Some  officers  of  the  fleet  had  circulated  among 
the  men  the  idea  that  when  the  sound  of  a  shot  or 
shell  was  heard  in  the  air,  the  missile  had  passed. 

"  They  won't  fool  me  any  more  by  saying  the 
shot  has  passed  when  you  hear  the  sound,"  mut- 
tered Monk  in  an  undertone. 

"No,  not  very  well,  after  this,"  said  the  Ad- 
miral, smiling. 

On  regaining  his  feet,  Monk  saw  a  slight  tinge 
in  the  cheeks  of  the  Admiral,  and  perceived  also 
that  his  lips  were  compressed  with  a  determined 
expression.  He  heard  Farragut  say,  just  above 
a  whisper :   "  Well,  I  will  pay  them  for  that  shot." 

"  You  go,"  said  the  Admiral,  addressing  Monk, 
"  and  tell  Captain  Alden  to  man  both  batteries ; 
and  go  up  within  range  of  the  upper  battery,  and 


102  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

give  it  a  broadside  from  our  starboard  battery; 
and  then  turn,  and  give  it  a  broadside  from  our 
port  battery ! " 

This  message  Monk  quickly  delivered. 

On  proceeding  up  the  river,  it  was  found  that 
the  enemy  had  mounted  four  guns,  and  were  pre- 
paring to  mount  others. 

They  opened  fire  from  this  new  battery.  The 
fire  was  returned  from  the  starboard  battery, 
which  completely  demolished  the  whole  earth- 
work, guns  and  all.  Then,  bringing  the  star- 
board guns  to  bear  on  the  upper  battery,  the  ship 
gave  that  a  broadside,  and  turning,  repeated  the 
broadside  with  the  port  battery,  as  the  Admiral 
had  ordered.  Then  we  returned  down  the  river 
to  our  old  anchorage. 

A  few  days  after,  some  of  our  men  ashore  took 
a  negro  prisoner,  and  brought  him  on  board  of 
our  ship.  On  the  evening  following  this  capture, 
Monk  finding  the  darky,  whose  name  was  Cato, 
forward  among  the  men,  the  following  dialogue 
ensued : 

"  Say,  Cato,  how  long  were  you  in  Port  Hud- 
son?" 

"  I  was  dar  'bout  free  raon's." 

"  What  did  you  do  up  there  ?  " 


A   STORY   OF    FARRAGUT  103 

"  I  cooked  fer  de  of'cers." 

"  What  were  you  doing  when  caught  ?  " 

"  Bress  my  soul,  honey,  Ah  was  a-fishin'." 

"  Did  you  have  time  up  there  to  go  fishing? " 

"  Ah  had  ter  ketch  fish,  honey,  or  dey  would  n't 

er  had  nuffin'  for  to  eat." 

"  Did  n't  you  have  any  bread  and  meat? " 
"We  use'   ter  have;  afore  dat  day  w'en  dis 

ship  cum  up  dar,  fightin'  us." 

"  Did  many  of  them  get  hurt  that  day  ? " 

"  Umph,  umph,  honey,  dat  dey  did !  " 

"  Say,  Cato,  what  's  the  matter  with  that  big 

rifled  gun,  up  there?    I  have  n't  heard  it  for  some 

days." 

"  He,  he,  he ! "  laughed  the  negro.     "  W'y,  dat 

same  day  one  o'  de  shot  from  dis  ship  knocked  de 

muzzle  off ! " 

"Well,"  said  Monk,  just  before  he  dropped 

asleep  that  night.     "The  Admiral  did  pay  them 

back  for  that  shot !  " 


A    DRUMMER-BOY  AT  GETTYSBURG1 

ON  the  12th  of  June,  1863,  my  journal  says: 
"  Very  warm,  dust  plenty,  water  scarce, 
marching  very  hard.  Halted  at  dusk  at  an  ex- 
cellent spring,  and  lay  down  for  the  night  with 
aching  limbs  and  blistered  feet." 

On  the  14th  we  were  racing  with  the  enemy — 
we  being  pushed  on  to  the  utmost  of  human  endur- 
ance—  for  the  possession  of  the  defenses  of  Wash- 
ington. From  five  o'clock  of  that  morning  till 
three  the  following  morning, — that  is  to  say,  from 
daylight  to  daylight, — we  were  hurried  along 
under  a  burning  June  sun,  with  no  halt  longer 
than  sufficient  to  recruit  our  strength  with  a  hasty 
cup  of  coffee  at  noon  and  nightfall.  Nine,  ten, 
eleven,  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  and  still  on!  It 
was  almost  more  than  flesh  could  endure.  Men 
fell  out  of  line  in  the  darkness  by  the  score,  and 
tumbled  over  by  the  road-side,  asleep  almost  be- 
fore they  touched  the  ground. 

1  From  "  Recollections  of  a  Drummer-Boy," 
104 


A   DRUMMER-BOY  AT   GETTYSBURG    105 

Now  comes  a  long  rest  of  a  week  in  the  woods 
near  the  Potomac,  for  we  have  been  marching 
parallel  with  the  enemy,  and  dare  not  go  too  fast, 
lest  by  some  sudden  and  dexterous  move  in  the 
game  he  should  sweep  past  our  rear  in  upon  the 
defenses  of  Washington.  And  after  this  sweet 
refreshment,  we  cross  the  Potomac  on  pontoons, 
and  march,  perhaps  with  a  lighter  step,  since  we 
are  nearing  home,  through  the  smiling  fields  and 
pleasant  villages  of  "  Maryland,  my  Maryland." 
At  Poolesville,  a  little  town  on  the  north  bank  of 
the  Potomac,  we  smile  as  we  see  a  lot  of  children 
come  trooping  out  of  the  village  school, — a  merry 
sight  to  men  who  have  seen  neither  woman  nor 
child  these  six  months  and  more,  and  a  touching 
sight  to  many  a  man  in  the  ranks  as  he  thinks  of 
his  little  flaxen-heads  in  the  far-away  home. 
Aye,  think  of  them  now  and  think  of  them  full 
tenderly,  for  many  a  man  of  you  shall  never  have 
child  climb  on  his  knee  any  more ! 

As  we  enter  one  of  these  pleasant  little  Mary- 
land villages,  we  find  on  the  outskirts  of  the  place 
two  young  ladies  and  two  young  gentlemen  wav- 
ing the  good  old  flag  as  we  pass,  and  singing 
"  Rally  round  the  Flag,  Boys."  The  excitement 
along  the  line  is  intense.     Cheer  on  cheer  is  given 


106  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

by  regiment  after  regiment  as  we  pass  along,  we 
drummer-boys  beating,  at  the  Colonel's  expres^ 
orders,  the  old  tune,  "  The  Girl  I  left  behind  me," 
as  a  sort  of  response.  Soon  we  are  in  among  the 
hills  again,  and  still  the  cheering  goes  on  in  the 
far  distance  to  the  rear. 

Only  ten  days  later  we  passed  through  the  same 
village  again,  and  were  met  by  the  same  young 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  waving  the  same  flag 
and  singing  the  same  song.  But  though  we 
tried  twice,  and  tried  hard,  we  could  not  cheer 
at  all,  for  there  's  a  difference  between  five  hun- 
dred men  and  one  hundred— is  there  not?  So, 
that  second  time,  we  drooped  our  tattered  flags, 
and  raised  our  caps  in  silent  and  sorrowful 
salute. 

"  Colonel,  close  up  your  men  and  move  on  as 
rapidly  as  possible." 

It  is  the  morning  of  July  ist,  and  we  are  cross- 
ing a  bridge  over  a  stream,  as  the  Staff-officer, 
having  delivered  this  order  for  us,  dashes  down 
the  line  to  hurry  up  the  regiments  in  the  rear. 
We  get  up  on  a  high  range  of  hills,  from  which  we 
have  a  magnificent  view.  The  day  is  bright,  the 
air  is  fresh  and  sweet,  and  the  sun  shines  out  of 
an  almost  cloudless  sky,  and  as  we  gaze  away  off 


A  DRUMMER-BOY  AT   GETTYSBURG    107 

yonder  down  the  valley  to  the  left— look !  Do  you 
see  that  ?  A  puff  of  smoke  in  midair !  Very  small 
and  miles  away,  as  the  faint  and  long-coming 
"  boom  "  of  the  exploding  shell  indicates,  but  it 
means  that  something  is  going  on  yonder,  away 
down  in  the  valley,  in  which,  perhaps,  we  may 
have  a  hand  before  the  day  is  done.  See!  An- 
other—  and  another!  Faint  and  far  away  comes 
the  long-delayed  "  boom !  "  "  boom !  "  echoing  over 
the  hills,  as  the  Staff-officer  dashes  along  the  lines 
with  orders  to  "double-quick!    double-quick!" 

Four  miles  of  almost  constant  double-quicking 
is  no  light  work  at  any  time,  least  of  all  on  such  a 
day  as  this  memorable  first  day  of  July,  for  it  is 
hot  and  dusty.  But  we  are  in  our  own  State  now, 
boys,  and  the  battle  is  opening  ahead,  and  it  is  no 
time  to  save  breath.  On  we  go,  now  up  a  hill, 
now  over  a  stream,  now  checking  our  headlong 
rush  for  a  moment,  for  we  must  breathe  a  little. 
But  the  word  comes  along  the  line  again,  "  double- 
quick,"  and  we  settle  down  to  it  with  right  good- 
will, while  the  cannon  ahead  seem  to  be  getting 
nearer  and  louder.  There  's  little  said  in  the 
ranks,  for  there  is  little  breath  for  talking,  though 
every  man  is  busy  enough  thinking.  We  all  feel, 
somehow,  that  our  day  has  come  at  last— as  in- 
deed it  has ! 


108  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

We  get  in  through  the  outskirts  of  Gettysburg, 
tearing  down  the  fences  of  the  town  lots  and  out- 
lying gardens  as  we  go ;  we  pass  a  battery  of  brass 
guns  drawn  up  beside  the  Seminary,  some  hun- 
dred yards  in  front  of  which  building,  in  a  strip  of 
meadow-land,  we  halt,  and  rapidly  form  the  line 
of  battle. 

"  General,  shall  we  unsling  knapsacks?  "  shouts 
some  one  down  the  line  to  our  Division-general, 
as  he  is  dashing  by. 

"Never  mind  the  knapsacks,  boys;  it  's  the 
State  now ! " 

And  he  plunges  his  spurs  up  to  the  rowels  in  the 
flanks  of  his  horse,  as  he  takes  the  stake-and-rider 
fence  at  a  leap  and  is  away. 

"  Unfurl  the  flags,  Color-guard!  " 

"  Now,  forward,  double " 

"  Colonel,  we  're  not  loaded  yet!  " 

A  laugh  runs  along  the  line  as,  at  the  command 
"  Load  at  will — load!"  the  ramrods  make  their 
merry  music,  and  at  once  the  word  is  given,  "  For- 
ward, double-quick !  "  and  the  line  sweeps  up  that 
rising  ground  with  banners  gayly  flying,  and 
cheers  that  rend  the  air — a  sight,  once  seen,  never 
to  be  forgotten. 

I  suppose  my  boy-readers  wonder  what  a  drum- 


A  DRUMMER-BOY  AT   GETTYSBURG    in 

mer-boy  does  in  time  of  battle.  Perhaps  they 
have  the  same  idea  I  used  to  have,  namely,  that  it 
is  the  duty  of  a  drummer-boy  to  beat  his  drum  all 
the  time  the  battle  rages,  to  encourage  the  men 
or  drown  the  groans  of  the  wounded !  But  if  they 
will  reflect  a  moment,  they  will  see  that  amid  the 
confusion  and  noise  of  battle,  there  is  little  chance 
of  martial  music  being  either  heard  or  heeded. 
Our  Colonel  had  long  ago  given  us  our  orders : 

"  You  drummer-boys,  in  time  of  an  engage- 
ment, are  to  lay  aside  your  drums  and  take 
stretchers  and  help  off  the  wounded.  I  expect 
you  to  do  this,  and  you  are  to  remember  that,  in 
doing  it,  you  are  just  as  much  helping  the  battle 
on  as  if  you  were  fighting  with  guns  in  your 
hands." 

And  so  we  sit  down  there  on  our  drums,  and 
watch  the  line  going  in  with  cheers.  Forthwith 
we  get  a  smart  shelling,  for  there  is  evidently 
somebody  else  watching  that  advancing  line  be- 
sides ourselves ;  but  they  have  elevated  their  guns 
a  little  too  much,  so  that  every  shell  passes  quite 
over  the  line  and  plows  up  the  meadow-sod  about 
us  in  all  directions. 

Laying  aside  our  knapsacks,  we  go  to  the  Sem- 
inary, now  rapidly  filling  with  the  wounded.    This 


ii2  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

the  enemy  surely  can  not  know,  or  they  would  n't 
shell  the  building  so  hard !  We  get  stretchers  at 
the  ambulances,  and  start  out  for  the  line  of  battle. 
We  can  just  see  our  regimental  colors  waving  in 
the  orchard,  near  a  log-house  about  three  hundred 
yards  ahead,  and  we  start  out  for  it. 

There  is  one  of  our  batteries  drawn  up  to  our 
left  a  short  distance  as  we  run.  It  is  engaged  in 
a  sharp  artillery  duel  with  one  of  the  enemy's, 
which  we  can  not  see,  although  we  can  hear  it 
plainly  enough,  and  straight  between  the  two  our 
road  lies.  So,  up  we  go,  at  a  lively  trot,  dodging 
the  shells  as  best  we  can,  till,  panting  for  breath, 
we  set  down  our  stretchers  under  an  apple-tree  in 
the  orchard,  in  which,  under  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
we  find  the  regiment  lying,  one  or  two  companies 
being  out  on  the  skirmish  line  ahead. 

I  count  six  men  of  Company  C  lying  yonder  in 
the  grass  killed — killed,  they  say,  by  a  single  shell. 
Andy,  my  messmate,  calls  me  away  for  a  moment 
to  look  after  some  poor  fellow  whose  arm  is  off  at 
the  shoulder ;  and  it  was  just  time  I  got  away,  too, 
for  immediately  a  shell  plunges  into  the  sod  where 
I  had  been  sitting,  tearing  my  stretcher  to  tatters 
and  plowing  up  a  great  furrow  under  one  of  the 
boys  who  had  been  sitting  immediately  behind  me, 


A   DRUMMER-BOY  AT   GETTYSBURG    113 

and  who  thinks  "  That  was  rather  close  shaving, 
was  n't  it,  now?"  The  bullets  whistling  over- 
head make  pretty  music  with  their  ever-varying 
"z-i-p!  z-i-p!"  and  we  could  imagine  them  so 
many  bees,  only  they  have  such  a  terribly  sharp 
sting. 

"Here  they  come,  boys;  we  '11  have  to  go  in 
at  them  on  a  charge,  I  guess ! "  Creeping  close 
around  the  corner  of  the  log-house,  I  can  see  the 
long  lines  of  gray  sweeping  up  in  fine  style  over 
the  fields;  but  I  feel  the  Colonel's  hand  on  my 
shoulder. 

"  Keep  back,  my  boy;  no  use  exposing  yourself 
in  that  way." 

As  I  get  back  behind  the  house  and  look  around, 
an  old  man  is  seen  approaching  our  line  through 
the  orchard  in  the  rear.  He  is  dressed  in  a  long, 
blue,  swallow-tailed  coat  and  high  silk  hat,  and 
coming  up  to  the  Colonel,  he  asks : 

"Would  you  let  an  old  chap  like  me  have  a 
chance  to  fight  in  your  ranks,  Colonel?  " 

"  Can  you  shoot?  "  inquires  the  Colonel. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  can  shoot,  I  reckon,"  says  he. 

"  But  where  are  your  cartridges  ?  " 

"  I  've  got  'em  here,  sir,"  says  the  old  man,, 
slapping  his  hand  on  his  pantaloons  pocket. 


H 


CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 


And  so  "  old  John  Burns/'  of  whom  every 
school-boy  has  heard,  takes  his  place  in  the  line 
and  loads  and  fires  with  the  best  of  them,  and  is 


THE    OLD    HERO    OF    GETTYSBURG 


A  DRUMMER-BOY  AT   GETTYSBURG    115 

left  wounded  and  insensible  on  the  field  when  the 
day  is  done. 

Reclining  there  under  a  tree  while  the  skirmish- 
ing is  going  on  in  front  and  the  shells  are  tearing 
up  the  sod  around  us,  I  observe  how  evidently 
hard  pressed  is  that  battery  yonder  in  the  edge  of 
the  wood,  about  fifty  yards  to  our  right.  The 
enemy's  batteries  have  excellent  range  on  the  poor 
fellows  serving  it.  And  when  the  smoke  lifts  or 
rolls  away  in  great  clouds  for  a  moment,  we  can 
see  the  men  running,  and  ramming,  and  sighting, 
and  firing,  and  swabbing,  and  changing  position 
every  few  minutes  to  throw  the  enemy's  guns  out 
of  range  a  little.  The  men  are  becoming  terribly 
few,  but  nevertheless  their  guns,  with  a  rapidity 
that  seems  unabated,  belch  forth  great  clouds  of 
smoke  and  send  the  shells  shrieking  over  the 
plain. 

Meanwhile,  events  occur  which  give  us  some- 
thing more  to  think  of  than  mere  skirmishing  and 
shelling.  Our  beloved  Brigadier-general,  step- 
ping out  a  moment  to  reconnoiter  the  enemy's  po- 
sition and  movements,  is  seen  by  some  sharp- 
shooter of!  in  a  tree,  and  is  carried  severelv 
wounded  into  the  barn.     Our  Colonel  assumes 

command  of  the  brigade.     Our  regiment  facing 

7 


u6  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

westward,  while  the  line  on  our  right  faces  to  the 
north,  is  observed  to  be  exposed  to  an  enfilading 
fire  from  the  enemy's  guns,  as  well  as  from  the 
long  line  of  gray  now  appearing  in  full  sight  on 
our  right.  So  our  regiment  must  form  in  line 
and  change  front  forward,  in  order  to  come  in 
line  with  the  other  regiments.  Accomplished 
swiftly,  this  new  movement  brings  our  line  at 
once  face  to  face  with  the  enemy's,  which  ad- 
vances to  within  fifty  yards,  and  exchanges  a  few 
volleys,  but  is  soon  checked  and  staggered  by 
our  fire. 

Yet  now,  see!  Away  to  our  left,  and  conse- 
quently on  our  flank,  a  new  line  appears,  rapidly 
advancing  out  of  the  woods  a  half-mile  away,  and 
there  must  be  some  quick  and  sharp  work  done 
now,  Boys,  or,  between  the  old  foes  in  front  and 
the  new  ones  on  our  flank,  we  shall  be  annihilated. 
To  clear  us  of  these  old  assailants  in  front  before 
the  new  line  can  sweep  down  on  our  flank,  our 
brave  Colonel,  in  a  ringing  command,  orders  a 
charge  along  the  whole  line.  Then,  before  the 
gleaming  and  bristling  bayonets  of  our  "  Buck- 
tail  "  brigade,  as  it  yells  and  cheers,  sweeping 
resistlessly  over  the  field,  the  enemy  gives  way 
and  flies  in  confusion.     But  there  is  little  time  to 


A  DRUMMER-BOY  AT   GETTYSBURG    117 

watch  them  fly,  for  that  new  line  on  our  left  is 
approaching  at  a  rapid  pace ;  and,  with  shells  fall- 
ing thick  and  fast  into  our  ranks,  and  men  drop- 
ping everywhere,  our  regiment  must  reverse  the 
former  movement  by  "changing  front  to  rear/' 
and  so  resume  its  original  position  facing  west- 
ward, for  the  enemy's  new  line  is  approaching 
from  that  direction,  and  if  it  takes  us  in  flank,  we 
are  done  for. 

To  "  change  front  to  rear  "  is  a  difficult  move- 
ment to  execute  even  on  drill,  much  more  so  under 
severe  fire;  but  it  is  executed  now  steadily  and 
without  confusion,  yet  not  a  minute  too  soon! 
For  the  new  line  of  gray  is  upon  us  in  a  mad  tem- 
pest of  lead,  supported  by  a  cruel  artillery  fire, 
almost  before  our  line  can  steady  itself  to  receive 
the  shock.  However,  partially  protected  by  a 
post-and-rail  fence,  we  answer  fiercely,  and  with 
effect  so  terrific  that  the  enemy's  line  wavers,  and 
at  length  moves  off  by  the  right  flank,  giving  us  a 
a  breathing  space  for  a  time. 

See  yonder !  Our  Colonel  is  clapping  his  hand 
to  his  cheek,  from  which  a  red  stream  is  pouring ; 
our  Lieutenant-colonel  is  kneeling  on  the  ground, 
and  is  having  his  handkerchief  tied  tight  around 
his  arm  at  the  shoulder;  the  Major  and  Adjutant 


u8  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

both  lie  low,  pierced  with  balls  through  the  chest ; 
one  Lieutenant  is  waving  his  sword  to  his  men, 
although  his  leg  is  crushed  at  the  knee;  three 
other  officers  of  the  line  are  lying  over  there, 
motionless  now  forever.  All  over  the  field 
are  strewn  men  wounded  or  dead,  and  comrades 
pause  a  moment  in  the  mad  rush  to  catch  the  last 
words  of  the  dying.  Incidents  such  as  these  the 
reader  must  imagine  for  himself,  to  fill  in 
these  swift  sketches  of  how  the  day  was  won — 
and  lost ! 

Aye,  lost !  For  the  balls  which  have  so  far 
come  mainly  from  our  front,  begin  now  to  sing  in 
from  our  left  and  right,  which  means  that  we  are 
being  flanked.  Somehow,  away  off  to  our  right,  a 
half-mile  or  so,  our  line  has  given  way  and  is  al- 
ready on  retreat  through  the  town,  while  our  left 
is  being  driven  in,  and  we  ourselves  may  shortly 
be  surrounded  and  crushed — and  so  the  retreat  is 
sounded. 

On,  now,  through  that  strip  of  woods,  at  the 
other  edge  of  which,  with  my  back  against  a 
stout  oak,  I  stop  and  look  at  a  beautiful  and 
thrilling  sight.  Some  reserves  are  being  brought 
up;  infantry  in  the  center,  the  colors  flying  and 
officers  shouting;  cavalry  on  the  right  with  sa- 


A  DRUMMER-BOY  AT   GETTYSBURG    119 

bers  flashing  and  horses  on  a  trot;  artillery  on 
the  left,  with  guns  at  full  gallop  sweeping  into 


THE    DRUMMER-BOY    AT    HIS    POST 


position  to  check  the  headlong  pursuit — it  is  a 
grand  sight  and  a  fine  rally,  but  a  vain  one;  for 


120  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

in  an  hour  we  are  swept  off  the  field  and  are  in 
full  retreat  through  the  town. 

Up  through  the  streets  hurries  the  remnant  of 
our  shattered  corps,  while  the  enemy  is  pouring 
into  the  town  only  a  few  squares  away  from  us. 
There  is  a  tempest  of  shrieking  shells  and  whist- 
ling balls  about  our  ears.  The  guns  of  that  bat- 
tery by  the  woods  we  have  dragged  along,  all  the 
horses  being  disabled.  The  artillery-men  load 
as  w7e  go,  double-charging  with  grape  and  can- 
ister. 

"  Make  way  there,  men ! "  is  the  cry,  and  the 
surging  mass  crowds  close  up  on  the  sidewalks  to 
right  and  left,  leaving  a  long  lane  down  the 
center  of  the  street,  through  which  the  grape  and 
canister  go  rattling  into  the  ranks  of  the  enemy's 
advance-guard. 

And  so,  amid  scenes  which  I  have  neither  space 
nor  power  to  describe,  we  gain  Cemetery  Ridge 
toward  sunset,  and  throw  ourselves  down  by  the 
road  in  a  tumult  of  excitement  and  grief,  having 
lost  the  day  through  the  overwhelming  force  of 
numbers,  and  yet  somehow  having  gained  it,  too 
(although  as  yet  we  know  it  not),  for  the  sacri- 
fice of  our  corps  has  saved  the  position  for  the 
rest  of  the  army,  which  has  been  marching  all 


A   DRUMMER-BOY  AT   GETTYSBURG    121 

day,  and  which  comes  pouring  in  over  Cemetery 
Ridge  all  night  long. 

Aye,  the  position  is  saved — but  where  is  our 
corps?  Well  may  our  Division-general,  who 
early  in  the  day  succeeded  to  the  command  when 
our  brave  Reynolds  had  fallen,  shed  tears  of  grief 
as  he  sits  there  on  his  horse  and  looks  over  the 
shattered  remains  of  that  First  Army  Corps,  for 
there  is  but  a  handful  of  it  left.  Of  the  five  hun- 
dred and  fifty  men  that  marched  under  our  regi- 
mental colors  in  the  morning,  but  one  hundred 
remain.  All  our  Field  and  Staff  officers  are 
gone.  Of  some  twenty  captains  and  lieutenants, 
but  one  is  left  without  a  scratch,  while  of  my  own 
company  only  thirteen  out  of  fifty-four  sleep  that 
night  on  Cemetery  Ridge,  under  the  open  canopy 
of  heaven. 


^ 


»&AS? 


HOW   MOSES   WAS   EMANCIPATED 

(A  True  Story  of  the  Civil  War) 

BY    SUSAN    HUNTINGTON    HOOKER 

MAMA,  mama,  where  did  you  get  this  pho- 
tograph of  a  darky  with  such  funny,  wide- 
open  eyes,  and  why  are  you  keeping  it  ?  "  asked 
Fritz,  who  had  been  rummaging  in  the  drawer  of 
an  old  bureau  sacred  to  relics  of  bygone  days. 
Mrs.  Reed  paused  a  moment  on  her  way  through 
the  room,  and  exclaimed:  "  Oh,  Fritz,  what 
are  you  doing  in  that  drawer?  Shut  it  up. 
There  are  all  sorts  of  valuable  and  rubbishy 
things  there — things  I  shall  never  have  time  to 
look  over  until  you  children  are  grown  up,  and  I 
am  a  gray  old  grandmother  with  nothing  else 
to  do." 

Mrs.  Reed  had  taken  the  photograph  in  her 
hand,  and  was  utterly  oblivious  of  Fritz's  pres- 
ence. Her  mind  was  in  the  past.  It  was  not  the 
photograph,    but    the    glimpse    she   had    of    the 

122 


HOW  MOSES  WAS  EMANCIPATED       123 

drawer,  with  its  old  letters,  shoulder-straps,  army 
buttons,  bits  of  Confederate  scrip  that  had  pa- 
pered a  room  she  saw  in  Vicksburg,  and  other 
odd  relics.  She  even  wondered  how  she  came  by 
that  battered  and  faded  old  picture. 

"  I  remember  this  now,"  said  mama,  after 
a  few  moments'  thinking.  "  Papa  sent  me 
the  picture  while  he  was  in  the  army.  That 
colored  man  has  quite  a  history.  This  evening 
ask  your  father  to  tell  you  '  How  Moses  was 
Emancipated.' " 

When  Mr.  Reed  opened  the  front  door  that 
evening  he  was  at  once  surrounded  by  a  clamor- 
ous group  of  children,  all  talking  at  once. 

"Tell  us  about  Moses  precipitated!"  cried 
Betty's  shrill  treble,  a  little  higher  than  the 
others. 

"No,  no,  Betty;  not  precipitated,"  said  Dan. 

"  Well,  Moses  anticipated,  then,"  said  she. 

They  all  laughed,  and  Miss  Betty  subsided. 

Her  father  picked  her  up  and  led  the  way  into 
the  sitting-room. 

Mr.  Reed  was  a  busy  man,  absorbed  in  the 
cares  of  a  large  business.  He  found  little  time 
to  think  of  the  past,  and  the  old  Civil  War  days 
were  sometimes  almost  like  a  dream  to  him,  or 


124  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

seemed  as  if  belonging  to  some  previous  exis- 
tence. He  had  served  three  years  in  an  engineer 
regiment  that  was  transferred  from  one  army- 
corps  to  another  as  their  work  was  needed, 
and  as  much  of  it  was  repairing  and  building 
bridges  and  railroads  in  the  hostile  country,  he 
could  tell  of  many  a  skirmish  with  bushwhackers 
that  belongs  to  the  unwritten  history  of  the 
war. 

It  was  a  rare  treat  for  the  children  when  they 
could  lead  him  to  tell  some  of  the  strange 
and  thrilling  exploits  in  which  he  had  taken 
part. 

After  tea,  when  they  were  all  gathered  around 
the  fireplace  with  its  bright  wood  fire,  and  Betty 
had  climbed  into  his  lap  and  nestled  her  head 
against  him  in  a  persuasive  way,  their  father  told 
them  "  How  Moses  was  Emancipated." 

You  all  have  heard  that  the  siege  of  Vicks- 
burg  lasted  many  months.  During  the  first  part 
of  the  siege  our  regiment  was  engaged  in  very 
important  and  sometimes  very  dangerous  work 
in  front  of  Vicksburg.  We  had  a  number  of 
times  to  run  the  blockade,  and  our  work  on  the 
fortifications  was  often  directly  under  the  ene- 


HOW  MOSES  WAS  EMANCIPATED       125 

mys  guns.  One  day  orders  came  for  us  to  join 
the  forces  in  the  rear  of  the  city.  We  crossed 
the  river,  and  reached  the  other  side  after  a 
roundabout  march.  Our  regiment  was  placed  in 
front  of  one  of  the  enemy's  most  formidable  for- 
tifications. At  first  we  were  some  distance  away, 
but  we  gradually  worked  up  with  our  approaches 
until  we  were  within  speaking  distance.  We  came 
so  near  that  we  could  "pass  the  time  o'  day" 
and  talk  in  as  friendly  a  way  as  you  please.  Oc- 
casionally our  men  would  throw  the  poor,  hungry 
fellows  opposite  a  bit  of  bacon  or  a  bite  of  hard- 
tack. 

We  were  fairly  starving  them  out,  and  when 
they  surrendered  there  was  not  a  bit  of  flour  or 
fresh  beef  in  the  city.  They  had  long  been  living 
on  mule  and  horse  meat  and  corn  meal.  An  order 
came  at  this  time  for  a  secret  and  dangerous  ser- 
vice, and  we  learned  that  we  were  to  undermine 
a  part  of  the  fort  and  blow  it  up.  The  entrance 
to  the  tunnel  was  covered  with  a  thick  growth 
of  underbrush,  and  secretly  and  silently  our  brave 
sappers  and  miners  did  their  work. 

We  made  a  long  tunnel,  with  a  gradual  de- 
scent, flat  at  the  bottom  and  arched  overhead. 
The  men  passed  the  dirt  out  one  to  the  other  in 


HOW  MOSES  WAS  EMANCIPATED       127 

pails  and  baskets,  and  it  was  carefully  distributed 
inside  of  our  earthworks  so  as  not  to  attract  at- 
tention. The  work  progressed  slowly  but  surely, 
until  finally  the  day  came  when  it  was  ready  for 
the  mine.  Our  men  carried  in  keg  after  keg  of 
powder  until  there  were  about  three  thousand 
pounds  in  the  end  of  the  mine.  Then  fuses  were 
so  placed  as  to  connect  the  kegs,  to  make  sure 
of  an  instantaneous  explosion.  When  the  mine 
was  finished  the  tunnel  was  packed  solidly  with 
earth  for  some  distance,  the  fuse  being  carried 
through  the  barrier  by  means  of  a  tube. 

When  everything  was  ready  our  men  came  out, 
leaving  one  man,  a  plucky  fellow  with  nerves  like 
steel  and  a  sure  hand,  to  light  the  fuse.  It  was 
a  critical  moment  when  the  men  lying  in  the  in- 
trenchments  awaited  the  result.  Our  brave  com- 
rade had  scarcely  joined  us  when  the  explosion 
took  place. 

We  saw  what  looked  like  a  volcano  before  us. 
Stones,  camp  equipage,  and  clouds  of  dirt  were 
blown  into  the  air,  and  one  nondescript  black 
mass  was  thrown  directly  into  our  camp.  Im- 
agine our  surprise,  when  this  bit  of  wreck  un- 
rolled itself,  at  seeing  the  blackest  and  most 
scared  looking  darky  we  ever  beheld! — his  eyes 


128  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

fairly  protruding  from  their  sockets.  As  he  came 
plump  down  on  a  pile  of  soft  earth,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  rolled  off  on  to  the  ground,  we  were 
about  as  much  amazed  as  he  was.  Marvelous 
as  it  may  seem,  the  man  was  as  sound  as  a  dollar, 
not  a  bone  broken.  As  soon  as  he  could  articu- 
late he  said  : 

"  Wha-wha-whar  is  I  ?  " 

"  Safe,  safe  in  the  Promised  Land ! "  said  our 
adjutant. 

"  Good  Lawd,  how  'd  I  get  here?  " 

"  I  'spect  you  came  in  a  '  chariot  of  fire' ! "  re- 
plied the  adjutant,  who  was  never  at  a  loss. 

The  bewildered  darky  looked  around  him  in 
a  dazed  sort  of  way,  utterly  unable  to  locate  him- 
self; but  the  blue  coats  of  our  soldiers  and  the 
practical  character  of  the  camp  seemed  to  con- 
vince him  that  he  was  yet  in  the  world.  It  took 
him  several  days  to  pull  himself  together,  and 
after  that  we  had  great  sport  with  him  in  the 
camp,  where  he  was  a  prime  favorite.  He  used 
to  say: 

"  Gen'lemen,  I  admiah  to  stay  heah ;  but  if  ye 
gwine  send  me  back,  I  pray  de  Lawd  ye  won't 
do  it  de  way  I  come ! " 

He  told  us  direful  stories  of  the  straits  of  those 


MOSES   ARRIVES    IN   CAMP    BY   THE    "  AIR   LINE " 


HOW  MOSES  WAS  EMANCIPATED       131 

inside  of  the  city.  He  said:  "My  missis  she  lib 
in  a  cave  'side  ob  de  road,  for  feah  of  de  bomb- 
shells. Her  ha'r  done  all  come  out,  and  she 
look  moah  like  a  scarecrow  dan  her  own  putty 
self." 

He  gave  us  some  valuable  information  in  re- 
gard to  the  fortifications  and  resources  of  the 
enemy.  He  was  delighted  to  be  among  the 
"  Yankees,"  and  to  feel  that  he  was  no  longer  a 
slave. 

When  the  boys  questioned  him  about  his  flight, 
he  said : 

"  I  was  just  lightin'  de  kindlin'  to  het  up  de 
colonel  a  dish  o'  mule  soup  when  de  summons 
come,  and  I  was  fired  in  de  air  like  a  rocket.  I 
dunno  what  all  became  ob  de  colonel  or  de 
soup." 

"  What  did  you  think,  Moses,  when  you  were 
flying  through  the  air?"  was  one  of  the  inquiries 
put  to  him. 

"  I  done  hab  no  use  for  thinkin'.  'T  were  too 
suddint  like;  but,  good  Lawd,  how  de  wind 
blew!" 

"Did  n't  you  think  that  the  last  day  had 
come?"  asked  another  soldier,  upon  joining  the 
group. 


132 


CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 


"  No,  sah.  I  tawt  de  debbles  was  all  let  loose." 
Moses  proved  a  very  good  cook,  and  our  colo- 
nel appropriated  him  for  his  own  particular  use. 
He  always  called  him  his  "  godsend,"  and  was 
never  tired  telling  over  the  mess-table  the  story 
of  "  How  Moses  was  Emancipated." 


I 


l-PQUBCECAVt:    -.     r'~    .,    _i__       u^'^^Vj 


ULYSSES    S.    GRANT    AS    LIEUTENANT-GENERAL 


jxji^tcU^^vi      erf  {yen*/  A^la^J    (J  (YuUZ?£i*s    fOu^rvj-    ffV~  /Z-£-e^&  /& 

Or\u^r^~e^ii    f^a^C  /£-^    a*rTf~C*Ce-~<,i     J  /i^^r^r   ^^^o  Atrt^ZT 
fisw    £e*>t    &J^    pi>    ^^^yCo    A*rw   o-CZ^ZC^j    /£^w  1&&J  MsmJU, 
^     (y>U™~_      J^ ^a^c   ^    ^t^^l^    a^k^w    i^£l*^i„  tsCC&+ 

w^We*;  /H^w     f~JZZ^&     0-*    £ryf^^tt     &>~rx~j       e^cts  ^     u^tA?  C**~U*  fa** 

Lincoln's  god-speed  to  grant,      (fac-simile  of  the 
original,  slightly  reduced  in  scale) 

[This  remarkable  letter  was  received  by  General  Grant  on 
the  ist  of  May,  three  days  before  the  Wilderness  campaign  be- 
gan. He  was  always  careless  about  his  papers,  and  private  or 
semi-official  ones  were  often  thrust  into  his  pockets,  where  the)r 
remained  for  months.  In  some  such  way  Mr.  Lincoln's  beauti- 
ful God-speed  was  mislaid.  General  Grant  had  forgotten  its 
existence,  until  in  1866  I  came  across  it  in  my  researches  for 
my  history  of  his  campaigns.  He  was  so  pleased  at  the  dis- 
covery, or  recovery,  that  he  gave  me  the  original  letter  at  the 
time.  It  is  my  intention  eventually  to  present  it  either  to  the 
Government  or  to  the  family  of  General  Grant. 

Adam  Badeau.] 

New  York,  November  io,   1885. 


SHERIDAN   IN  THE  VALLEY 

BY    GENERAL    ADAM    BADEAU 

THERE  are  two  kinds  of  war  in  modern 
times:  one  is  begun  by  governments,  and 
carried  on  principally  by  armies,  and  in  this  the 
people  of  the  countries  have  for  the  most  part 
little  concern ;  the  other  is  war  in  which  the  peo- 
ple themselves  take  an  active  part.  The  civil  war 
at  the  South  was  of  the  latter  sort.  After  it  was 
once  begun,  the  population  of  the  South  were  as 
profoundly  interested  as  their  own  government, 
and  bore  as  important  a  part.  Nearly  every 
grown  white  man  in  the  Southern  States  was  in 
the  ranks;  and  the  women  and  children  and  the 
few  men  who  staid  at  home  were,  if  anything, 
more  in  earnest  than  those  who  belonged  to  the 
army.  The  population,  including  the  slaves,  fur- 
nished supplies  of  every  sort  to  those  at  the  front : 
they  made  shoes  and  clothes  and  sometimes  arms ; 
they  plowed  and  reaped,  and  ground  and  baked, 

136 


SHERIDAN  IN  THE  VALLEY  137 

and  forwarded  food.  Without  them  the  armies 
of  the  South  could  not  have  been  maintained. 

The  Valley  of  Virginia  was  the  great  farm- 
ground  and  storehouse  for  Lee's  army.  It  is  an 
unusually  fertile  region,  two  hundred  miles  long, 
and  fifty  wide,  lying  between  the  Alleghany  and 
the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains,  and  extending  from 
the  Potomac  on  the  north  to  the  James  River 
on  the  south.  Here  the  crops  were  raised  that 
fed  the  defenders  of  Richmond.  Here  the  sad- 
dles and  harnesses  for  Lee's  cavalry  were  made; 
here  were  the  gun-stock  factories,  the  shoe-shops, 
the  cloth-mills,  the  furnaces  and  foundries  that 
furnished  his  munitions  of  war. 

Grant  believed  that  the  war  at  the  South  could 
not  be  ended  solely  by  fighting.  It  was  his  policy 
to  destroy  whatever  supported  the  armies ;  to  kill 
all  the  men ;  to  consume  all  the  food,  and  to  break 
up  all  the  roads  by  which  further  supplies  could 
be  brought.  There  was  plenty  of  fighting — as 
many  and  fierce  battles  in  the  same  space  of  time 
as  the  world  ever  saw;  but  the  struggle  was  be- 
tween men  of  the  same  race,  equally  brave,  equally 
in  earnest;  and  the  only  way  to  conquer,  accord- 
ing to  Grant,  was  to  attack  the  people  as  well  as 
the  armies.     One  great  means  was  the  destruc- 


"  THE    ARMY    CARRIED    OFF    ALL    THE    HORSES,     CATTLE,    AND    MULES  " 


SHERIDAN  IN   THE  VALLEY  139 

tion  of  the  supplies  in  the  Valley  of  Virginia. 
But  the  supplies  were,  ably  and  bravely  defended, 
and  before  they  could  be  destroyed  the  defenders 
must  be  beaten.     This  was  Sheridan's  first  task. 

He  was  just  thirty-three  years  of  age — the  very 
prime  of  life  for  a  soldier ;  for  after  forty  no  man 
is  so  fit  for  war  as  before,  so  full  of  spirit  and 
vigor  and  endurance— and  all  these  are  qualities 
of  mind  or  body  essential  in  a  great  commander. 
"  Old  men  for  counsel,  young  men  for  action," 
says  the  proverb,  truly.  But  Sheridan  was  not 
only  full  of  energy;  his  judgment  was  clear, 
which  every  one  can  see  is  also  important  in  a 
general.  His  decision  too  was  quick,  and  this,  if 
possible,  is  more  important  still;  for  in  the  tur- 
moil of  battle  there  is  not  time  to  consider  long. 
As  well  decide  wrong,  as  decide  too  late.  Sheri- 
dan had  experience  of  war,  he  had  skill,  he  had 
undaunted  courage.  By  courage  I  do  not  mean 
merely  the  trait  which  enables  a  man  to  stand  fire 
without  running  away,  but  the  fearlessness  to 
take  great  risks,  to  send  his  men  into  battle  know- 
ing that  if  he  lost,  he  lost  all — his  own  fame,  the 
lives  of  his  troops,  the  future,  perhaps,  of  his 
country.  Many  a  brave  man  shrinks  in  the  pres- 
ence of  such  possibilities.     But  this  sort  of  daring 


HO  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

is  indispensable  in  a  great  soldier;  and  this  Sheri- 
dan possessed. 

He  also  had  a  sympathetic  nature  that  attracted 
men,  gave  him  a  great  influence  over  them,  and 
made  them  love  him  and  follow  him.  No  soldier 
on  either  side  in  the  war  had  more  of  this  personal 
magnetism  than  Sheridan.  In  battle,  he  stood  in 
his  stirrups,  waving  his  hat  and  brandishing  his 
sword,  and  shouting  to  his  men.  His  eyes 
flashed,  his  face  shone,  and  wounded  men  went 
on  after  they  had  been  shot,  because  he  com- 
manded them.  He  ordered  the  bands  to  play,  and 
led  the  front  line  himself  with  the  colors  in  his 
hand,  and  the  example  was  contagious.  Such  a 
man  was  almost  sure  to  lead  his  troops  to  victory. 

For  six  weeks  the  new  commander  moved  cau- 
tiously about  at  the  entrance  to  the  Valley;  for 
Sheridan  was  wary  as  well  as  active.  His  force 
was  little,  if  any,  larger  than  Early's,  and  great 
things  hung  on  his  success.  It  was  important 
to  give  the  enemy  no  chance,  yet  a  single  mis- 
move  might  leave  open  the  road  to  Washington. 
Besides  this,  he  was  hampered  by  the  fact  that 
his  own  movements  depended  on  those  of  other 
armies  a  hundred  miles  away. 

Finally,  the  country  and  the  government  be- 


(P-fcz/lu^ ^^s^ 


SHERIDAN  IN  THE  VALLEY  143 

came  impatient,  as  those  often  are  who  look  at 
war  from  afar,  not  knowing  the  plans  or  pros- 
pects of  commanders  or,  sometimes,  the  real  situ- 
ation. Grant  therefore  went  to  see  Sheridan, 
and  talked  with  him  of  the  position  of  affairs. 
He  took  a  plan  of  battle  with  him,  in  his  pocket, 
but  he  found  Sheridan  understood  so  well  what 
he  had  to  do,  that  he  told  him  to  fight  as  he  had 
intended,  and  never  showed  him  the  plan. 

The  two  armies  were  facing  each  other,  a  lit- 
tle east  of  the  town  of  Winchester,  and  Sheridan 
moved  forward  the  greater  part  of  his  command, 
holding  one  division  in  reserve,  to  be  used  at  the 
crisis.  Early  learned  that  Grant  had  been  with 
Sheridan,  and  judging  from  this  that  a  battle  was 
probable,  recalled  the  detachment  he  had  sent 
away.  It  returned  in  the  midst  of  the  battle,  and 
proved  an  important  re-enforcement,  driving 
Sheridan  back  from  the  ground  he  at  first  had 
gained.  Then,  however,  Sheridan  brought  up 
his  reserves  on  his  own  right,  and  wheeled  them 
around  to  envelop  Early's  left,  while  the  North- 
ern cavalry  moved  at  the  same  time  on  the  op- 
posite flank.  The  double  force  approached  with 
terrible  vigor,  and  the  spectacle  to  the  enemy  was 
tremendous.     Crowded  in  on  both  flanks,  over- 


^o 


1M: 


n%&& 


»    ill 


tm  wi 


Vr  '■'.  NC'j. 


SHERIDAN   IN  THE  VALLEY  145 

lapped  on  the  left,  with  Sheridan's  cavalry  charg- 
ing into  them  on  the  right,  they  fell  into  con- 
fusion. "  The  result,"  said  Grant,  "  was  such 
that  I  never  afterward  thought  it  necessary  to 
visit  Sheridan  before  giving  him  orders." 

The  battle  of  Winchester  lasted  till  dark  on  the 
19th  of  September,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  20th 
Sheridan  came  up  with  Early  at  Fisher's  Hill. 

On  the  morning  of  the  21st,  Sheridan  began 
his  preparations  for  another  assault.  He  liked 
the  maneuver  he  had  performed  at  Winchester  so 
well  that  he  determined  to  try  it  again. 

On  the  following  day  Sheridan  drove  the  enemy 
quite  out  of  the  narrow  valley  into  the  gaps  of 
the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains,  while  his  troops  took 
possession  of  the  country  a  hundred  miles  south 
of  the  Potomac  River.  The  effect  of  these  vic- 
tories was  prodigious.  The  whole  North  rang 
with  applause,  and  Sheridan  became  one  of  the 
most  conspicuous  and  popular  of  the  Union  gen- 
erals. 

It  was  now  time  for  Sheridan  to  carry  out 
Grant's  second  set  of  orders.  He  had  "  followed 
the  enemy  to  the  death,"  had  "  got  south  of  them," 
had  driven  them  out  of  the  coveted  region,  and  re- 
lieved the  North  from  all  fear  of  invasion  by  the 


146  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

Valley;  now  he  was  ready  to  begin  the  destruc- 
tion of  supplies.  Sheridan  therefore  devastated 
the  whole  country  between  the  Blue  Ridge  and 
the  Alleghanies.  It  was  very  terrible,  but  it  was 
war ;  and  the  crudest  war  is  sometimes  the  most 
merciful,  for  it  is  surer  to  be  short.  One  side 
or  the  other  must  give  way. 

So  complete  a  destruction  of  the  resources  of  a 
country  has  hardly  been  known  in  modern  war- 
fare, but  it  answered  its  purpose,  and  helped  to 
end  the  war. 

But  the  very  success  with  which  this  plan  was 
carried  out  made  it  impossible  for  Sheridan  him- 
self to  remain  in  the  region.  All  forage  and  grain 
south  of  him  had  been  sent  to  Lee;  all  the  rest 
Sheridan  himself  had  consumed  or  destroyed. 
He  was  a  hundred  miles  from  his  base,  and  sup- 
plies could  not  be  brought  up  rapidly  enough  to 
enable  him  to  penetrate  farther.  There  was  no 
alternative  but  to  retrace  his  steps. 

Lee,  however,  could  not  yet  make  up  his  mind 
to  abandon  this  important  territory;  he  deter- 
mined to  make  one  more  effort  to  recover  it. 
Early  had  not  absolutely  crossed  the  Blue  Ridge, 
but  had  only  fled  to  its  western  base,  and  Lee  now 
re-enforced  him  with  ten  thousand  men,  and  or- 
dered him  to  return. 


SHERIDAN    IN   THE   VALLEY  147 

Sheridan,  meanwhile,  had  begun  his  back- 
ward march,  "  stretching  the  cavalry  across  the 
Valley  from  the  Blue  Ridge  to  the  eastern  slope 
of  the  Alleghanies,  with  directions  to  burn  all 
forage  and  barns,  and  drive  off  all  stock  as  they 
moved." 

On  the  9th  of  October,  Early  came  up  with  the  I 
cavalry  at  a  place  called  Tom's  Brook,  near  the 
site  of  the  battle  of  Fisher's  Hill;  but  Torbert,  at 
the  head  of  Sheridan's  horse,  turned  and  routed 
the  Southern  cavalry,  capturing  eleven  guns,  the 
forges  for  the  batteries,  the  wagons  for  head- 
quarters, and  everything  else  that  was  carried  on 
wheels.  The  enemy  were  followed  "  on  the 
jump "  twenty-six  miles,  over  a  mountain  and 
across  a  river. 

After  this  affair,  the  victorious  general  con- 
tinued his  northward  march.  Early  remained 
quiet  for  several  days  after  his  third  defeat,  and 
then  followed  at  a  respectful  distance.  On  the 
13th  of  October,  Sheridan  was  summoned  to 
Washington  by  the  Secretary  of  War,  who  de- 
sired to  consult  him  about  the  further  movements 
of  the  campaign.  On  the  15th  he  started  for  the 
capital,  leaving  his  army,  under  the  command  of 
General  Wright. 

Early,  meanwhile,  was  preparing  for  a  desper- 


148 


CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 


ate  effort,  and  on  the  night  of  the  18th  of  October, 
he  moved  against  Sheridan's  army.  Crossing 
the  river  in  the  darkness,  he  crept  unobserved 
under  the  Union  guns,  attacked  the  army  at  day- 
break, and  drove  in  the  left,  capturing  eighteen 


/U*:jr^°H 


SHERIDAN  S    HORSE 


guns  and  a  thousand  prisoners.  This  part  of  the 
command  was  absolutely  routed.  The  right  re- 
mained unbroken,  but  the  whole  army  was  forced 
back  a  distance  of  six  or  seven  miles ;  many  of 
the  troops  were  in  a  deplorable  condition,  the  in- 


SHERIDAN  IN  THE  VALLEY  149 

fantry  not  even  keeping  together  as  companies. 
It  was  a  mob,  not  an  army. 

Sheridan  had  left  Washington  on  the  morning 
of  the  1 8th,  by  train,  and  passed  the  night  at 
Winchester,  twenty  miles  north  of  the  battle-field. 
On  the  morning  of  the  19th,  he  heard  the  firing 
of  cannon,  and  sent  out  to  inquire  the  cause,  but 
was  told  it  came  from  a  reconnoissance.  At  nine 
o'clock  he  rode  leisurely  out  of  Winchester,  not 
dreaming  that  his  army  was  in  danger.  After  a 
little,  he  heard  again  the  sound  of  heavy  guns, 
and  now  he  knew  what  it  must  mean.  Not  half  a 
mile  from  Winchester  he  came  upon  the  appalling 
marks  of  defeat  and  rout.  The  runaways  from 
the  battle,  still  in  flight,  had  got  so  far  as  this  in 
their  terror.  The  trains  of  wagons  were  rushing 
by,  horses  and  drivers  all  in  confusion,  for  there 
is  no  worse  turmoil  in  this  world  than  the  flight 
and  wreck  of  a  beaten  army.  Sheridan  had  never 
seen  his  own  men  in  this  condition  before. 

He  at  once  ordered  the  trains  to  be  halted,  and 
sent  for  a  brigade  of  troops  from  Winchester; 
these  he  posted  across  the  road  to  prevent  further 
straggling.  Then  he  called  for  an  escort  of 
twenty  men,  and,  directing  his  staff  to  stem  the 
torrent  as  well  as  they  could,  he  set  off  himself 


SHERIDAN   IN  THE  VALLEY  151 

for  the  battle-field.  He  rode  straight  into  the 
throng  of  fugitives,  in  a  splendid  passion  of  wrath 
and  determination,  spurring  his  horse  and  swing- 
ing his  hat  as  he  passed,  and  calling  to  the  men : 

"  Face  the  other  way,  boys !  Face  the  other 
way ! " 

Hundreds  turned  at  the  appeal,  and  followed 
him  with  cheers,  for  they  all  knew  Sheridan. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  he  reached  the  field. 
There  he  rode  about  hurriedly,  glanced  at  the  po- 
sition, and  at  once  determined  upon  his  course. 
He  re-arranged  the  line  of  those  who  were  still 
unbeaten,  and  then  went  back  to  bring  up  the 
panic-stricken  remainder.  And  now  his  presence 
and  personal  influence  told.  He  was  in  the  full 
uniform  of  a  major-general,  mounted  on  a  mag- 
nificent black  horse,  man  and  beast  covered  with 
dust  and  flecked  with  foam;  he  rose  again  in  his 
stirrups,  he  drew  his  sword,  he  waved  his  hat, 
and  shouted  to  his  soldiers : 

"  If  I  had  been  here,  this  never  would  have  hap- 
pened. Face  the  other  way,  boys!  We  are  go- 
ing back ! " 

The  flying  soldiers  were  struck  with  shame 
when  they  heard  him  shout  and  saw  his  face  blaz- 
ing with  rage  and  courage  and  eagerness  for 


152  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

them.  They  took  up  his  cry  themselves,  "  Face 
the  other  way ! "  It  went  on  from  one  to  another 
for  miles — from  crowd  to  crowd — and  they 
obeyed  the  command.  As  the  swelling  shout 
went  on,  the  surging  crowd  returned.  They 
faced  the  other  way,  and,  along  the  very  road 
which  a  cowering  mob  had  taken  three  hours  be- 
fore, the  same  men  marched,  with  the  tread  of 
soldiers,  to  meet  the  enemy.  They  knew  now 
that  they  were  led  to  victory. 

He  led  them  to  their  place;  he  re-formed  the 
whole  line,  and  a  breastwork  of  rails  and  logs 
was  thrown  up— just  in  time.  As  Sheridan 
reached  the  front  he  could  see  the  enemy  moving 
to  the  attack;  but  now  he  was  prepared.  The 
assault  was  heavy,  but  the  men  stood  their 
ground,  and  this  time  it  was  Early's  troops  that 
broke.  Then  Sheridan  advanced,  and  over  the 
same  ground  where  his  army  had  been  defeated 
in  the  morning,  he  pursued  a  shrinking  enemy; 
recaptured  every  cannon  that  had  been  lost,  drove 
the  Southerners  across  the  creek,  found  a  ford 
where  the  river  turned,  got  among  the  wagons 
and  made  the  pursuit  a  rout.  Early  tried  to  rally 
his  men  at  Fisher's  Hill,  where  he  had  fought  a 
few  days  before,  but  all  in  vain:  there  was  no 


SHERIDAN  IN  THE  VALLEY  153 

organization  left;  he  could  not  form  them  into 
line.  Two  thousand  made  their  way  to  the 
mountains,  and  for  ten  miles  the  road  was  cov- 
ered with  small  arms,  blankets,  knapsacks,  and 
wounded  men — the  fragments  of  a  flying  army. 

This  battle  ended  the  campaign  in  the  Valley; 
the  Southerners  never  again  attempted  to  invade 
the  North,  and  Sheridan's  men  marched  in  what- 
ever direction  they  chose,  for  there  was  no  one  to 
oppose  them. 

It  was  only  eleven  weeks  since  Sheridan  had 
entered  the  Valley,  and  in  this  period  he  had 
fought  three  pitched  battles,  besides  directing  an 
important  cavalry  encounter,  —  and  every  one  was 
a  complete  victory. 

The  object  of  the  campaign  was  as  thoroughly 
accomplished  as  in  any  series  of  movements  in  the 
war,  and  Sheridan  will  always  be  known  in  his- 
tory as  the  Hero  of  the  Valley. 


THE  PICKET-GUARD 

BY    ETHELIN    ELIOT    BEERS 

All  quiet  along  the  Potomac,"  they  say, 
"  Except,  now  and  then,  a  stray  picket 
Is  shot,  as  he  walks  on  his  beat  to  and  fro, 

By  a  rifleman  hid  in  the  thicket. 
'T  is  nothing — a  private  or  two,  now  and  then, 

Will  not  count  in  the  news  of  the  battle; 
Not  an  officer  lost— only  one  of  the  men, 

Moaning  out,  all  alone,  the  death-rattle." 

All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night, 

Where  the  soldiers  lie  peacefully  dreaming; 
Their  tents,  in  the  rays  of  the  clear  autumn  moon, 

O'er  the  light  of  the  watch-fires  are  gleaming. 
A  tremulous  sigh  of  the  gentle  night-wind 

Through  the  forest-leaves  softly  is  creeping, 
While  stars  up  above,  with  their  glittering  eyes, 

Keep  guard,  for  the  army  is  sleeping. 

There  's  only  the  sound  of  the  lone  sentry's  tread, 
As  he  tramps  from  the  rock  to  the  fountain, 

And  thinks  of  the  two,  in  the  low  trundle-bed, 
Far  away  in  the  cot  on  the  mountain. 
154 


THE   PICKET-GUARD  155 

His  musket  falls  slack — his  face,  dark  and  grim, 

Grows  gentle  with  memories  tender, 
As  he  mutters  a  prayer  for  the  children  asleep — 

For  their  mother — may  Heaven  defend  her ! 

He  passes  the  fountain,  the  blasted  pine-tree — 

His  footstep  is  lagging  and  weary; 
Yet  onward  he  goes,  through  the  broad  belt  of  light, 

Toward  the  shades  of  the  forest  so  dreary. 
Hark !  was  it  the  night-wind  that  rustled  the  leaves  ? 

Was  it  the  moonlight  so  wTondrously  flashing? 
It  looked  like  a  rifle — "Ha!    Mary,  good-bye!" 

And  the  life-blood  is  ebbing  and  plashing ! 

All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night — 

No  sound  save  the  rush  of  the  river : 
While  soft  falls  the  dew  on  the  face  of  the  dead — 

The  picket  's  off  duty  forever ! 


THE  "ALABAMA"  AND  THE 
"KEARSARGE" 

BY  THE  SURGEON  OF  THE  "  KEARSARGE 


N  Sunday,  the  12th  of 
*  ;&**%&&  ~  ~  June>  1864,  the  Kear- 
h'W*®^?'*'  \"S^^  sarge,  Captain  John  A. 
Winslow,  was  lying  at  an- 
chor in  the  Scheldt,  off  Flush- 
Holland.  The  cornet  suddenly 
appeared  at  the  fore,  and  a  gun  was  fired. 
These  were  unexpected  signals  that  compelled 
absent  officers  and  men  to  return  to  the  ship. 
Steam  was  raised,  and  as  soon  as  we  were 
off,  and  all  hands  called,  Captain  Winslow 
gave  the  welcome  news  of  a  telegram  from 
Mr.  Dayton,  our  minister  to  France,  announcing 
that  the  Alabama  had  arrived  the  day  previous 
at  Cherbourg;  hence,  the  urgency  of  departure, 
the  probability  of  an  encounter,  and  the  expecta- 
tion of  her  capture  or  destruction.     The  crew 

156 


REAR-ADMIRAL    RAPHAEL    SEMMES,    CAPTAIN    OF    THE         ALABAMA 
From  a  photograph  in  possession  of  Mrs.  J.  Mcintosh  Kell ;  taken  in  England  after  the  loss  of  his  ship 


"ALABAMA"   AND   "  KEARSARGE"       15.9, 

responded  with  cheers.  The  succeeding  day  wit- 
nessed the  arrival  of  the  Kearsarge  at  Dover,  for 
dispatches;  and  the  day  after  (Tuesday)  her  ap- 
pearance off  Cherbourg,  where  we  saw  the  Con- 
federate flag  flying  within  the  breakwater.  Ap- 
proaching nearer,  officers  and  men  gathered  in 
groups  on  deck  and  looked  intently  at  the  "dar- 
ing rover,"  that  had  been  able  for  two  years  to  es- 
cape numerous  foes  and  to  inflict  immense  dam- 
age on  our  commerce.  She  was  a  beautiful 
specimen  of  naval  architecture.  The  surgeon 
went  on  shore  and  obtained  permission  to  visit 
the  port  for  boats.  Owing  to  the  neutrality  lim- 
itation which  would  not  allow  us  to  remain  in  the 
harbor  longer  than  twenty-four  hours,  it  was  in- 
expedient to  enter  the  port.  We  placed  a  vigi- 
lant watch  by  turns  at  each  of  the  harbor  en- 
trances, and  continued  it  to  the  moment  of  the 
engagement. 

On  Wednesday  Captain  Winslow  paid  an 
official  visit  to  the  French  admiral  commanding 
the  maritime  district,  and  to  the  U.  S.  commer- 
cial agent,  bringing  on  his  return  the  unantici- 
pated news  that  Captain  Semmes  had  declared 
his  intention  to  fight.  At  first  the  assertion  was 
barely  credited,  the  policy  of  the  Alabama  being 


1 60  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

regarded  as  opposed  to  a  conflict,  and  to  escape 
rather  than  to  be  exposed  to  injury,  perhaps 
destruction;  but  the  doubters  were  half  con- 
vinced when  the  so-called  challenge  was  known 
to  read  as  follows : 

"  C.  S.  S.  'Alabama,'  Cherbourg,  June  14,  1864. 
"  To  A.  Bonfils,  Esq.,  Cherbourg. 

"Sir:  I  hear  that  you  were  informed  by  the  U.  S. 
Consul  that  the  Kearsarge  was  to  come  to  this  port 
solely  for  the  prisoners  landed  by  me,  and  that  she  was 
to  depart  in  twenty-four  hours.  I  desire  you  to  say  to 
the  U.  S.  Consul  that  my  intention  is  to  fight  the 
Kearsarge,  as  soon  as  I  can  make  the  necessary  ar- 
rangements. I  hope  these  will  not  detain  me  more 
than  until  to-morrow  evening,  or  after  the  morrow 
morning  at  furthest.  I  beg  she  will  not  depart  before 
I  am  ready  to  go  out. 

I  have  the  honor  to  be  very  respectfully,  your  obedi- 
ent servant,  R.  Semmes,  Captain/3 

Preparations  were  made  for  battle,  with  no 
relaxation  of  the  watch.  Thursday  passed;  Fri- 
day came;  the  Kearsarge  waited  with  ports 
down,  guns  pivoted  to  starboard,  the  whole  bat- 
tery loaded,  and  shell,  grape  and  canister  ready 
to  use  in  any  mode  of  attack  or  defense;  yet  no 
Alabama  appeared.  French  pilots  came  on  board 
and  told  of  unusual  arrangements  made  by  the 


"ALABAMA"   AND   "  KEARSARGE  "       163 

enemy,  such  as  the  hurried  taking  of  coals,  the 
transmission  of  valuable  articles  to  the  shore, 
such  as  captured  chronometers,  specie,  and  the 
bills  of  ransomed  vessels ;  and  the  sharpening  of 
swords,  cutlasses,  and  boarding-pikes.  It  was 
reported  that  Captain  Semmes  had  been  advised 
not  to  give  battle.  He  replied  he  would  prove  to 
the  world  that  his  ship  was  not  a  privateer,  in- 
tended only  for  attack  upon  merchant  vessels,  but 
a  true  man-of-war;  further,  he  had  consulted 
French  officers,  who  all  asserted  that  in  his  situ- 
ation they  would  fight.  Certain  newspapers  de- 
clared that  he  ought  to  improve  the  opportunity 
afforded  by  the  presence  of  the  enemy  to  show 
that  his  ship  was  not  a  "  corsair,"  to  prey  upon 
defenseless  merchantmen,  but  a  real  ship-of-war, 
able  and  willing  to  fight  the  "  Federal "  waiting 
outside  the  harbor.  It  was  said  the  Alabama 
was  swift,  with  a  superior  crew,  and  it  was  known 
that  the  ship,  guns,  and  ammunition  were  of 
English  make. 

Sunday  the  19th  came;  a  fine  day,  atmosphere 
somewhat  hazy,  little  sea,  light  westerly  wind. 
At  ten  o'clock  the  Kearsarge  was  near  the  buoy 
marking  the  line  of  shoals  to  the  eastward  of 
Cherbourg,  at  a  distance  of  about  three  miles 


1 64  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

from  the  entrance.  The  decks  had  been  holy- 
stoned, the  bright  work  cleaned,  the  guns  pol- 
ished, and  the  crew  were  dressed  in  Sunday  suit. 
They  were  inspected  at  quarters  and  dismissed 
to  attend  divine  service.  Seemingly  no  one 
thought  of  the  enemy;  so  long  awaited  and  not 
appearing,  speculation  as  to  her  coming  had 
nearly  ceased.  At  10:20  the  officer  of  the  deck 
reported  a  steamer  approaching  from  Cherbourg, 
— a  frequent  occurrence,  and  consequently  it  cre- 
ated no  surprise.  The  bell  was  tolling  for  serv- 
ice when  some  one  shouted,  "  She  's  coming,  and 
heading  straight  for  us ! "  Soon,  by  the  aid  of  a 
glass,  the  officer  of  the  deck  made  out  the  enemy 
and  shouted,  "The  Alabama!"  and  calling  down 
the  ward-room  hatch  repeated  the  cry,  "  The  Ala- 
bama!" The  drum  beat  to  general  quarters; 
Captain  Winslow  put  aside  the  prayer-book, 
seized  the  trumpet,  ordered  the  ship  about  and 
headed  seaward.  The  ship  was  cleared  for  ac- 
tion, with  the  battery  pivoted  to  starboard. 

The  Alabama  approached  from  the  western 
entrance,  escorted  by  the  French  iron-clad  frigate 
Couronne,  flying  the  pennant  of  the  commandant 
of  the  port. 

Captain  Winslow  had  assured  the  French  ad- 


ALABAMA"  AND  "  KEARSARGE 


65 


miral  that  in  the  event  of  an  engagement  the  posi- 
tion of  the  ship  should  be  far  enough  from  shore 
to  prevent  a  violation  of  the  law  of  nations.  To 
avoid  a  question  of  jurisdiction  and  to  avert  an 


THE    CREW    OF    THE    "  KEARSARGE  "    AT    QUARTERS 


escape  to  neutral  waters  in  case  of  retreat,  the 
Kearsarge  steamed  to  sea,  followed  by  the  enemy, 
giving  the  appearance  of  running  away  and  being 
pursued. 

The  action  was  now  fairly  begun.  A  shot 
from  an  early  broadside  of  the  Kearsarge  car- 
ried away  the  spanker-gaff  of  the  enemy,  and 
caused  his  ensign  to  come  down  by  the  run.    This 


1 66  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

incident  was  regarded  as  a  favorable  omen  by  the 
men,  who  cheered  and  went  with  increased  con- 
fidence to  their  work.  The  fallen  ensign  reap- 
peared at  the  mizzen.  The  Alabama  returned  to 
solid  shot,  and  soon  after  fired  both  shot  and  shell 
to  the  end.  The  firing  of  the  Alabama  was  rapid 
and  wild,  getting  better  near  the  close;  that  of 
the  Kearsarge  was  deliberate,  accurate,  and  al- 
most from  the  beginning  productive  of  dismay, 
destruction,  and  death.1  The  Kearsarge  gunners 
had  been  cautioned  against  firing  without  direct 
aim,  and  had  been  advised  to  point  the  heavy 
guns  below  rather  than  above  the  water-line,  and 
to  clear  the  deck  of  the  enemy  with  the  lighter 
ones.  Though  subjected  to  an  incessant  storm 
of  shot  and  shell,  they  kept  their  stations  and 
obeyed  instructions. 

The  effect  upon  the  enemy  was  readily  per- 
ceived, and  nothing  could  restrain  the  enthusiasm 
of  our  men.  Cheer  succeeded  cheer;  caps  were 
thrown  in  the  air  or  overboard;  jackets  were  dis- 
carded ;  sanguine  of  victory,  the  men  were  shout- 
ing as  each  projectile  took  effect:   "That  is  a 

1  Captain  Semmes  in  his  official  report  says :  "  The  firing  now 
became  very  hot,  and  the  enemy's  shot  and  shell  soon  began  to  tell 
upon  our  hull,  knocking  down,  killing,  and  disabling  a  number  of 
men  in  different  parts  of  the  ship." — J.  M.  B. 


"ALABAMA'5   AND   "  KEARSARGE  "       169 

good  one ! "  "  Down,  boys  I"  "  Give  her  another 
like  the  last !  "  "  Now  we  have  her !  "  and  so  on, 
cheering  and  shouting  to  the  end. 

After  exposure  to  an  uninterrupted  cannonade 
for  eighteen  minutes  without  casualties,  a  sixty- 
eight-pounder  Blakely  shell  passed  through  the 
starboard  bulwarks  below  the  main  rigging,  ex- 
ploded upon  the  quarter-deck,  and  wounded  three 
of  the  crew  of  the  after  pivot-gun.  With  these 
exceptions,  not  an  officer  or  man  received  serious 
injury.  The  three  unfortunates  were  speedily 
taken  below,  and  so  quietly  was  the  act  done,  that 
at  the  termination  of  the  fight  a  large  number  of 
the  men  were  unaware  that  any  of  their  comrades 
were  wounded.  Two  shots  entered  the  ports 
occupied  by  the  thirty-twos,  where  several  men 
were  stationed,  one  taking  effect  in  the  hammock- 
netting,  the  other  going  through  the  opposite 
port,  yet  none  were  hit.  A  shell  exploded  in  the 
hammock-netting  and  set  the  ship  on  fire;  the 
alarm  calling  for  fire-quarters  was  sounded,  and 
men  detailed  for  such  an  emergency  put  out  the 
fire,  while  the  rest  stayed  at  the  guns. 

It  is  wonderful  that  so  few  casualties  occurred 
on  board  the  Kearsarge,  considering  the  number 
on  the  Alabama— the  former  having  fired  one 


170  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

hundred  and  seventy-three  shot  and  shell,  and  the 
latter  nearly  double  that  number.  The  Kear- 
sarge  concentrated  her  fire  and  poured  in  the 
eleven-inch  shells  with  deadly  effect.  One  pene- 
trated the  coal-bunker  of  the  Alabama,  and  a 
dense  cloud  of  coal-dust  arose.  Others  struck 
near  the  water-line  between  the  main  and  mizzen 
masts,  exploded  within  board,  or  passing  through 
burst  beyond.  Crippled  and  torn,  the  Alabama 
moved  less  quickly  and  began  to  settle  by  the 
stern,  yet  did  not  slacken  her  fire,  but  returned 
successive  broadsides  without  disastrous  result 
to  us. 

Captain  Semmes  witnessed  the  havoc  made  by 
the  shells,  especially  by  those  of  our  after  pivot- 
gun,  and  offered  a  reward  for  its  silence.  Soon 
his  battery  was  turned  upon  this  particular  of- 
fending gun  for  the  purpose  of  silencing  it.  It 
was  in  vain,  for  the  work  of  destruction  went  on. 
We  had  completed  the  seventh  rotation  on  the  cir- 
cular track  and  begun  the  eighth;  the  Alabama, 
now  settling,  sought  to  escape  by  setting  all  avail- 
able sail  (fore-trysail  and  two  jibs),  left  the  cir- 
cle, amid  a  shower  of  shot  and  shell,  and  headed 
for  the  French  waters;  but  to  no  purpose.  In 
winding  the  Alabama  presented  the  port  battery 


THE    BOAT    FROM    THE    "  ALABAMA  "    ANNOUNCING    THE   SURRENDER    AND    ASKING 

FOR    ASSISTANCE 

The  picture  shows  shot-marks  in  the  thin  deal  covering  of  the  chain  armor  amidships 


"ALABAMA"   AND   "  KEARSARGE  "       173 

with  only  two  guns  bearing,  and  showed  gaping 
sides  through  which  the  water  washed.  The 
Kearsarge  pursued,  keeping  on  a  line  nearer  the 
shore  and,  with  a  few  well-directed  shots  has- 
tened the  sinking  condition.  Then  the  Alabama 
was  at  our  mercy.  Her  colors  were  struck  and 
the  Kearsarge  ceased  firing.  Two  of  the  junior 
officers,  so  I  was  told  by  our  prisoners,  swore  they 
would  never  surrender,  and  in  a  mutinous  spirit 
rushed  to  the  two  port  guns  and  opened  fire  upon 
the  Kearsarge.  Captain  Winslow,  amazed  at 
this  extraordinary  conduct  of  an  enemy  who  had 
hauled  down  his  flag  in  token  of  surrender,  ex- 
claimed, "  He  is  playing  us  a  trick;  give  him  an- 
other broadside."  Again  the  shot  and  shell  went 
crashing  through  her  sides,  and  the  Alabama 
continued  to  settle  by  the  stern.  The  Kearsarge 
was  laid  across  her  bows  for  raking,  and  in  posi- 
tion to  use  grape  and  canister. 

Over  the  stern  of  the  Alabama  a  white  flag  was 
shown,  and  her  ensign  was  half-masted,  union 
down.  Captain  Winslow  for  the  second  time 
gave  orders  to  cease  firing.  Thus  ended  the 
fight  after  a  duration  of  one  hour  and  two  min- 
utes. 

Boats  were  now  lowered  from  the  Alabama. 


174  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

Her  master's-mate,  Fullam,  an  Englishman, 
came  alongside  the  Kearsarge  with  a  few  of  the 
wounded,  reported  the  disabled  and  sinking  con- 
dition of  his  ship,  and  asked  for  assistance.  Cap- 
tain Winslow  inquired,  "  Does  Captain  Semmes 
surrender  his  ship?"  "Yes,"  was  the  reply. 
Fullam  then  solicited  permission  to  return  with 
his  boat  and  crew  to  assist  in  rescuing  the  drown- 
ing, pledging  his  word  of  honor  that  when  this 
was  done  he  would  come  on  board  and  surrender. 
Captain  Winslow  granted  the  request.  With  less 
generosity  he  could  have  detained  the  officer  and 
men,  supplied  their  places  in  the  boat  from  his 
ship's  company,  secured  more  prisoners,  and  af- 
forded equal  aid  to  the  distressed. 

It  was  now  seen  that  the  Alabama  was  settling 
fast.  The  wounded,  and  boys  who  could  not 
swim,  were  sent  away  in  the  quarter  boats,  the 
waist  boats  having  been  destroyed.  Captain 
Semmes  dropped  his  sword  into  the  sea  and 
jumped  overboard  with  the  remaining  officers 
and  men. 

The  Alabama  sunk  in  forty-five  fathoms  of 
water,  at  a  distance  of  about  four  and  a  half  miles 
from  the  breakwater,  off  the  west  entrance.  She 
was  severely  hulled  between  the  main  and  mizzen 


"ALABAMA"   AND   "  KEARSARGE  "       177 

masts,  and  settled  by  the  stern;  the  mainmast, 
pierced  by  a  shot  at  the  very  last,  broke  off  near 
the  head  and  went  over  the  side,  the  bow  lifted 
high  from  the  water,  and  then  came  the  end. 
Suddenly  assuming  a  perpendicular  position, 
caused  by  the  falling  aft  of  the  battery  and  stores, 
straight  as  a  plumb-line,  stern  first,  she  went 
down,  the  jib-boom  being  the  last  to  appear  above 
water.  Down  sank  the  terror  of  merchantmen, 
riddled  through  and  through,  and  as  she  disap- 
peared to  her  last  resting-place  there  was  no 
cheer;  all  were  silent. 


LIEUTENANT  CUSHING  AND  THE 
RAM  "ALBEMARLE" 

BY  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

THE  great  Civil  War  was  remarkable  in 
many  ways,  but  in  no  way  more  remarkable 
than  for  the  extraordinary  mixture  of  inventive 
mechanical  genius  and  of  resolute  daring  shown 
by  the  combatants.  After  the  first  year,  when 
the  contestants  had  settled  down  to  real  fighting, 
and  the  preliminary  mob-work  was  over,  the  bat- 
tles were  marked  by  their  extraordinary  obsti- 
nacy and  heavy  losses.  In  no. European  conflict 
since  the  close  of  the  Napoleonic  wars  has  the 
fighting  been  anything  like  so  obstinate  and  so 
bloody  as  was  the  fighting  in  our  own  Civil  War. 
Hundreds  of  regiments,  both  Northern  and 
Southern,  suffered  each  in  some  one  engagement 
far  more  heavily  than  either  the  Light  Brigade 
at  Balaclava,  or  the  Guards  at  Inkerman,  or  than 
any   German   regiment  in   the  Franco-Prussian 

178 


THE    BLOWING    UP    OF    THE    "  ALBEMARLE 


CUSHING  AND   THE   "ALBEMARLE"     181 

war;  and  yet  they  have  gone  entirely  unnoticed 
by  the  poet,  and  dismissed  with  but  a  scant  line  or 
two  by  the  historian.  In  addition  to  this  fierce 
and  dogged  courage,  this  splendid  righting  capac- 
ity, the  contest  also  brought  out  the  skilled  in- 
ventive power  of  engineer  and  mechanician  in  a 
way  that  few  other  contests  have  ever  done. 

This  was  especially  true  in  the  navy.  The 
fighting  under  and  against  Farragut  and  his 
fellow  admirals  revolutionized  naval  warfare. 
The  Civil  War  marks  the  break  between  the  old 
style  and  the  new.  The  ships  with  which  Decatur 
and  Perry  and  Hull  and  Porter  won  glory  in 
1812  were  essentially  like  those  with  which 
Drake  and  Hawkins  and  Frobisher  had  harried 
the  Spanish  armadas  two  centuries  and  a  half 
earlier.  They  were  essentially  like  the  ships  that 
made  up  the  fleets  of  Tromp  and  De  Ruyter,  as 
of  Collingwood  and  Nelson.  But,  in  the  Civil 
War,  steam,  iron  armor,  and  entirely  new  weap- 
ons, worked  such  a  revolution  that  the  fleets  of 
to-day  differ  as  widely  from  those  of  Nelson  as 
did  his  ships-of-the-line  from  the  galleys  of  Al- 
cibiades  twenty-two  hundred  years  before.  The 
steam-frigate,  the  ironclad,  the  ram,  and  the  tor- 
pedo in  all  its  forms — the  practical  use  of  all 

10 


1 82  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

these  dates  from  the  Civil  War.  Terrible  en- 
counters took  place  when  these  engines  of  war 
were  brought  into  action  for  the  first  time,  and 
one  of  these  encounters  has  given  an  example 
which,  for  heroic  daring  combined  with  cool  in- 
telligence, is  unsurpassed  in  all  time. 

The  Confederates  showed  the  same  skill  and 
energy  in  building  their  great  iron-clad  rams  as 
the  men  of  the  Union  did  in  building  the  moni- 
tors which  were  so  often  pitted  against  them. 
Both  sides,  but  especially  the  Confederates,  also 
used  stationary  torpedoes,  and  on  a  number  of 
occasions  torpedo-boats  likewise.  These  torpedo- 
boats  were  sometimes  built  to  go  under  the  water. 
One  such,  after  repeated  failures,  was  employed 
by  the  Confederates,  with  equal  gallantry  and 
success,  in  sinking  a  Union  sloop-of-war  off 
Charleston  harbor.  The  torpedo-boat  itself  went 
to  the  bottom  with  its  victim,  all  on  board  being 
drowned.  The  other  type  of  torpedo-boat  was 
simply  a  swift,  ordinary  steam-launch  operated 
on  the  surface. 

It  was  this  last  type  of  boat  which  Lieutenant 
W.  B.  Cushing  brought  down  to  Albemarle 
Sound  to  use  against  the  great  Confederate  ram 
Albemarle.     The  ram  had  been  built  for  the  pur- 


CUSHING   AND   THE   "ALBEMARLE"    183 

pose  of  destroying  the  Union  blockading  forces. 
Steaming  down  the  river,  she  had  twice  attacked 
the  Federal  gunboats,  and  in  each  case  had  sunk 


COMMANDER    W.    B.    CUSHING,    U.    S.    N. 


or  disabled  one  or  more  of  them,  with  little  injury 
to  herself.  She  had  retired  up  the  river  again 
to  lie  at  her  wharf  and  rent. 

The  gunboats  had  suffered  so  severely  as  to 
make  it  a  certainty  that  when  the  ram  came  out 


1 84  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

again,  thoroughly  fitted  up,  to  renew  the  attack, 
the  wooden  vessels  would  be  destroyed;  and, 
while  she  was  in  existence  the  Union  vessels 
could  not  attack  and  reduce  the  forts  and  coast 
towns.  Just  at  this  time  Cushing  came  down 
from  the  North  with  his  swift  little  torpedo-boat 
—  an  open  launch  with  a  spar  rigged  to  push  out 
in  front,  the  torpedo  being  placed  at  the  end. 
The  crew  of  the  launch  consisted  of  fifteen  men, 
Cushing  being  in  command.  He  not  only  guided 
his  craft,  but  himself  handled  the  torpedo  by 
means  of  two  small  ropes,  one  of  which  put  it  in 
place,  while  the  other  exploded  it.  The  action  of 
the  torpedo  was  complicated,  and  it  could  not 
have  been  operated  in  a  time  of  tremendous  ex- 
citement save  by  a  man  of  the  utmost  nerve  and 
self-command.  But  Cushing  had  both;  he  pos- 
sessed precisely  that  combination  of  reckless 
courage,  presence  of  mind,  and  high  mental  ca- 
pacity necessary  to  the  man  who  leads  a  forlorn 
hope  under  peculiarly  difficult  circumstances. 

On  the  night  of  October  27,  1864,  Cushing 
slipped  away  from  the  blockading  fleet,  and 
steamed  up  the  river  toward  the  wharf,  a  dozen 
miles  distant,  where  the  great  ram  lay.  The 
Confederates   were   watchful   to  guard   against 


CUSHING  AND   THE   "ALBEMARLE"    i85 

surprise,  for  they  feared  lest  their  foes  should  try 
to  destroy  the  ram  before  she  got  a  chance  to 
come  down  and  attack  them  again  in  the  Sound. 
She  lay  under  the  guns  of  a  fort,  with  a  regiment 
of  troops  ready  at  a  moment's  notice  to  turn  out 
and  defend  her.  Her  own  guns  were  kept  al- 
ways clear  for  action,  and  she  was  protected  by 
a  great  boom  of  logs  thrown  out  roundabout,  of 
which  last  defense  the  Federals  knew  nothing. 

Cushing  went  up-stream  with  the  utmost 
caution,  and  by  good  luck  passed,  unnoticed,  a 
Confederate  lookout  below  the  ram. 

About  midnight  he  made  his  assault.  Steam- 
ing quietly  on  through  the  black  water,  and 
feeling  his  way  cautiously  toward  where  he  knew 
the  town  to  be,  he  finally  made  out  the  loom  of 
the  Albemarle  through  the  night,  and  at  once 
drove  at  her.  He  was  almost  upon  her  before 
he  was  discovered ;  then  the  crew  and  the  soldiers 
on  the  wharf  opened  fire,  and  at  the  same  moment 
he  was  brought  to  by  the  boom,  the  existence  of 
which  he  had  not  known.  The  rifle-balls  were 
singing  about  him  as  he  stood  erect  guiding  his 
launch,  and  he  heard  the  bustle  of  the  men  aboard 
the  ram,  and  the  noise  of  the  great  guns  as  they 
were  got  ready.     Backing  off,  he  again  went  all 


1 86  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

steam  ahead,  and  actually  surged  over  the  slip- 
pery log  of  the  boom. 

Meanwhile,  on  the  deck  of  the  Albemarle  the 
sailors  were  running  to  quarters,  and  the  sol- 
diers were  swarming  down  to  aid  in  her  defense. 
And  the  droning  bullets  came  always  thicker 
through  the  dark  night.  Cushing  still  stood  up- 
right in  his  little  craft,  guiding  and  controlling 
her  by  voice  and  signal,  while  in  his  hands  he 
kept  the  ropes  which  led  to  the  torpedo.  As  the 
boat  slid  forward  over  the  boom,  he  brought  the 
torpedo  full  against  the  somber  side  of  the  huge 
ram,  and  instantly  exploded  it,  almost  at  the  same 
time  that  the  pivot-gun  of  the  ram,  loaded  with 
grape,  was  fired  point-blank  at  him,  not  ten  yards 
off. 

At  once  the  ram  settled,  the  launch  sinking  at 
the  same  moment,  while  Cushing  and  his  men 
swam  for  their  lives.  Most  of  them  sank  or 
were  captured;  but  Cushing  reached  midstream. 
Hearing  something  splashing  in  the  darkness,  he 
swam  toward  it,  and  found  that  it  was  one  of  his 
crew.  He  went  to  his  rescue,  and  they  kept  to- 
gether for  some  time,  but  the  sailor's  strength 
gave  out,  and  he  finally  sank.  In  the  pitch  dark- 
ness Cushing  could  form  no  idea  where  he  was; 


CUSHING  AND   THE   "ALBEMARLE"    187 

and  when,  chilled  through,  and  too  exhausted  to 
rise  to  his  feet,  he  finally  reached  shore,  shortly 
before  dawn,  he  found  that  he  had  swum  back, 
and  landed  but  a  few  hundred  feet  below  the 
sunken  ram.  All  that  day  he  remained  within 
easy  musket-shot  of  where  his  foes  were  swarm- 
ing about  the  fort  and  the  great  drowned  iron- 
clad. He  hardly  dared  move,  and  until  the  after- 
noon, he  lay  without  food  and  without  protection 
from  the  heat  or  insects.  Then  he  managed  to 
slip  unobserved  into  a  dense  swamp,  and  began  to 
make  his  way  toward  the  fleet.  Toward  evening 
he  came  out  on  a  small  stream,  near  a  camp  of 
Confederate  soldiers.  They  had  moored  to  the 
bank  a  small  skiff,  and  with  equal  stealth  and 
daring  he  managed  to  steal  this,  and  began  to 
paddle  down-stream.  Hour  after  hour  he  pad- 
dled on  through  the  fading  light,  and  then 
through  the  darkness.  At  last,  utterly  worn  out, 
he  found  the  squadron,  and  was  picked  up. 

At  once  the  ships  weighed  their  anchors,  and 
they  speedily  captured  every  coast  town  and  fort, 
now  that  their  dreaded  enemy  was  no  longer  in 
the  way. 

The  fame  of  Cushing's  deed  went  all  over  the 
land,  and  his  name  will  stand  forever  among  the 
highest  on  the  honor-roll  of  the  American  Navy. 


SHERMAN'S  MARCH  TO  THE  SEA 

BY    GENERAL   ADAM    BADEAU 

THE  first  thing  for  a  boy  or  a  girl  to  remem- 
ber in  considering  war  is— that  soldiers 
must  eat.  It  is  generally  supposed  that  the  most 
important  duty  of  a  soldier  is  to  fight;  but  this 
is  a  mistake.  He  must  eat  before  he  can  fight; 
and  more  battles  have  been  lost  because  com- 
manders could  not  feed  their  armies,  than  be- 
cause they  could  not  fight  the  enemy.  This  fact 
should  be  especially  borne  in  mind  by  those  who 
wish  to  understand  the  March  to  the  Sea. 

In  1864,  when  Grant  took  command  of  the 
armies  of  the  United  States,  there  were  two  great 
forces  of  the  South  to  be  beaten  and  destroyed  if 
the  Union  was  to  be  saved.  One  was  the  army 
under  General  Robert  E.  Lee,  between  Washing- 
ton and  Richmond;  the  other  that  in  Northern 
Georgia,  before  Chattanooga,  commanded  by 
General  Joseph  E.  Johnston.    Grant  remained  in 


SHERMAN'S   MARCH   TO   THE   SEA       191 

person  at  the  East,  and  undertook  to  defeat  Lee's 
army  there;  while  he  gave  to  General  William  T. 
Sherman  the  task  of  subduing  Johnston's  forces. 
Chattanooga  is  in  the  heart  of  the  Cumberland 
Mountains,  on  the  borders  of  Tennessee  and 
Georgia.  It  stands  at  the  junction  of  the  great 
railroad  which  runs  east  and  west  between  the 
Mississippi  and  the  Atlantic,  and  that  other 
equally  important  one  running  north  and  south 
between  the  Ohio  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  By 
these  two  railroads  the  Southern  Confederacy, 
during  the  early  part  of  the  war,  had  sent  supplies 
to  its  armies.  But  when  Grant  won  Chattanooga 
in  1863,  one  line  was  broken;  and  the  Southern- 
ers fell  back  for  communication  to  other  railroads 
which  met  at  Atlanta,  connecting  that  place  with 
Mobile,  Savannah,  New  Orleans,  and  Richmond. 

The  control  of  the  railroads  is  the  object  of 
every  great  campaign  in  modern  war.  Whoever 
holds  the  railroads  can  move  troops  and  ammuni- 
tion and  food  to  the  important  point  more  quickly 
than  the  enemy.  And  everything  depends  upon 
being  stronger  than  your  enemy  at  the  impor- 
tant point. 

When  Grant  won  Chattanooga,  he  secured  the 
great  highway  across  the  continent  from  Missis- 


1 92  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

sippi  to  the  sea,  as  well  as  the  gateway  into 
Georgia.  Then  he  ordered  Sherman  to  advance 
southward  to  the  next  great  crossing  of  railroads, 
at  Atlanta.  It  took  Sherman  four  months  to 
carry  out  this  order.  He  had  to  move  through  a 
mountainous  region,  by  narrow  defiles,  across 
numerous  streams,  against  an  army  of  his  own 
countrymen,  as  good  soldiers  as  ever  fought,  and 
led  by  a  general  who  had  no  superior  in  skill  or 
courage  on  either  side  during  the  war,  who  knew 
how  to  fight  and  to  fortify,  to  put  every  obstacle 
in  the  way  of  his  antagonist,  to  hold  him  off  as 
long  as  possible,  and— quite  as  important  as  any- 
thing else — to  fall  back  when  he  could  hold  out 
no  longer.  Johnston  opposed  Sherman  in  this 
way.  But  Sherman  had  more  men  and  equal 
skill  and  courage. 

Grant's  plan  had  been  that  Sherman,  after  en- 
tering Atlanta,  should  march  on  to  Mobile,  hold- 
ing the  line  that  he  had  gained.  This  would 
have  cut  the  Confederacy  in  two.  But  Sherman 
found  the  achievement  impossible;  and  after 
chasing  Hood  about  in  the  rear  for  a  month 
or  two,  and  accomplishing  nothing  but  to  hold 
his  own,  he  conceived  another  idea,  —  one  of  the 
grandest  and  boldest  that  ever  occurred  to  a  man 


194  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

in  war.  This  was  nothing  else  than  to  give  up 
Atlanta  and  the  railroad  to  Chattanooga,  to 
abandon  all  supplies  from  the  North,  and  to  dash 
into  the  enemy's  country,  depending  upon  the 
country  itself  for  supplies,  and  then  make  a  way 
to  either  the  Atlantic  or  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  He 
proposed  to  take  his  sixty  thousand  men  into  the 
interior  of  the  Confederacy,  where  he  could  have 
no  communication  with  any  other  Union  army,  no 
help  from  Grant  or  the  Government,  no  news 
from  them  for  at  least  a  month;  to  risk  meeting 
whatever  force  the  Southerners  might  collect  to 
obstruct  him,  and  to  depend  upon  what  he  could 
find  to  feed  his  army, — men  and  horses.  No  such 
enterprise  had  ever  been  attempted  in  modern 
war. 

On  the  1 6th  of  November,  Sherman  himself 
rode  out  of  Atlanta,  his  army  having  preceded 
him.  When  he  reached  a  hill  just  without  the 
town,  he  stood  on  one  of  his  old  battle-grounds 
and  paused  to  look  back  at  the  smoldering  ruins 
he  had  made.  The  smoke  hung  over  the  un- 
fortunate city  like  a  pall,  but  in  front  the  men 
were  marching  to  the  tune  of  "John  Brown's 
body  lies  moldering  in  the  grave."  They  took 
up  the  hymn  as  they  bore  their  glistening  mus- 


SHERMAN'S   MARCH  TO  THE   SEA      195 

kets  in  the  sun,  and  with  swinging  pace  moved 
lightly  forward,  thinking  little  then  of  the  thou- 
sand miles  that  lay  between  them  and  Richmond. 

The  troops  started  at  the  earliest  dawn  and 
marched  till  noon.  Then  there  was  a  halt  for  the 
day,  always,  of  course,  near  a  stream ;  water  was 
brought  and  the  cooking  began,  and  the  pine- 
trees  were  cut,  not  only  for  fire,  but  for  shelter 
and  beds,  for  there  were  no  tents  taken  with  the 
army;  everybody  went  into  bivouac.  At  night 
the  great  fires  blazed  high  for  miles,  and  threw  a 
red  light  over  the  landscape  long  after  the  blue- 
coated  soldiers  had  sunk  to  slumber  on  their 
couches  of  leaves. 

The  fences  along  the  road  were  destroyed  for 
fire-wood,  and  all  the  rails  of  the  railroads  were 
taken  up.  Huge  piles  of  the  iron  were  laid 
across  the  fires  till  the  metal  was  softened,  and 
then  the  soldiers  took  it  to  the  neighboring  trees, 
and  twisted  it,  red  and  hissing,  around  the  juicy 
saplings,  so  that  it  might  not  be  used  to  repair  the 
road  after  the  army  had  passed ;  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  railroads  was  one  of  the  principal  ob- 
jects of  the  campaign.  All  bridges  were  burned 
as  soon  as  crossed,  and  the  country  was  left  as 
impassable  as  possible  for  an  enemy. 


'Mr 


1L 


?:I 


SHERMAN'S   MARCH   TO   THE   SEA      197 

The  orders  were  for  the  troops  to  forage  liber- 
ally off  the  country.  The  region  was  rich  and 
had  never  before  been  visited  by  an  enemy. 
Meal,  bacon,  sweet  potatoes,  poultry,  cows  and 
oxen  were  abundant,  as  well  as  horses  and  mules. 
Parties  were  sent  out  before  daylight  from  every 
brigade,  on  each  side  of  the  line  of  march,  to  . 
ransack  every  farm  and  plantation  within  range. 
The  men  were  all  mounted  on  horses,  mules,  or 
even  cattle,  sometimes  with  saddles  but  oftener 
without;  the  animals  were  packed  with  hams, 
live  fowl,  bags  of  grain  or  flour,  and  even  articles 
of  furniture  or  clothing;  for  war  is  often  only 
organized  robbery.  The  parties  were  surrounded 
by  crowds  of  negroes,  who  everywhere  left  their 
masters  to  follow  the  Union  army;  men,  women, 
and  children,  all  knew  they  were  emancipated. 
They  swarmed  around  the  column,  clinging  to 
the  horses,  kissing  the  hands  and  feet  of  the  offi- 
cers, frantic  with  joy  at  the  arrival  of  those  whom 
they  looked  upon  as  their  deliverers. 

On  the  10th  of  December  the  army  came  up 
with  the  defenses  of  Savannah.  The  place  was 
well  fortified ;  it  had  a  good  garrison  and  an  able 
commander,  General  Hardee,  and  it  might  hold 
out  for  weeks. 


198  CIVIL  WAR  STORIES 

On  the  1 6th  of  December  Sherman  summoned 
Hardee  to  surrender  Savannah,  but  the  Confed- 
erate commander  refused.  There  was  still  one 
road  out  of  the  city,  on  the  northern  side,  that 
was  left  unclosed ;  and  Sherman  went  up  to  Port 
Royal  to  order  Foster  to  close  that  road.  While 
he  was  absent,  on  the  night  of  the  21st,  Hardee 
evacuated  the  city  by  the  still  open  road,  and  when 
Sherman  returned,  on  the  22d  of  December,  he 
found  his  own  troops  in  possession  of  Savannah. 
He  telegraphed  to  the  President:  "I  beg  to  pre- 
sent you,  as  a  Christmas  gift,  the  city  of  Sa- 
vannah, with  one  hundred  and  fifty  heavy  guns 
and  plenty  of  ammunition;  also  about  twenty- 
five  thousand  bales  of  cotton."  This  message 
reached  the  President  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  was 
published  in  the  Northern  newspapers  on  Christ- 
mas Day.  Savannah  was  a  big  present  to  put 
into  the  nation's  stocking. 

It  was  thirty-one  days  after  starting  from  At- 
lanta before  Sherman  re-opened  communication 
with  the  North.  In  that  time  he  had  destroyed 
two  hundred  miles  of  railroad,  and  broken  up 
every  connection  between  the  Confederate  forces 
east  and  west  of  Georgia. 

The  success  of  this  campaign  was  equal  to  its 


SHERMAN'S   MARCH  TO  THE   SEA      201 

daring,  and  although  its  dangers  proved  less  in 
reality  than  in  anticipation,  the  skill  of  the  com- 
mander and  the  courage  of  the  men  are  none  the 
less  to  be  admired.  The  romantic  character  of 
the  march  is  unsurpassed.  That  an  army  should 
disappear  from  sight  for  a  month,  marching  un- 
harmed through  hostile  regions,  its  whereabouts 
unknown  to  its  friends,  and  emerge  at  last  as  if 
out  of  a  wilderness^  with  undiminished  numbers 
and  increased  renown,  is  a  circumstance  that 
equals  in  interest  any  in  history;  and  so  long  as 
American  boys  and  girls  read  the  account  of  the 
nation's  achievements,  they  will  find  no  chapter 
more  fascinating  than  that  which  tells  of  Sher- 
man's March  to  the  Sea. 


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